


Dark Star

by KateMcKinley



Category: The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Childhood Trauma, Cutting, Discussion of Abortion, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Girl Power, Heavy Angst, Hiding Medical Issues, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Medical, Medical Conditions, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Pregnancy, Self-Harm, Threatened Miscarriage, Unplanned Pregnancy, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateMcKinley/pseuds/KateMcKinley
Summary: Stella's return from London at the end of Operation Music Man is harder for her to deal with than she thought. Chasing Spector and delving into his dark mind had opened old wounds and left her unstable in herself. Picking up where they left off at the end of series 3. Stella returns home to her apartment for a wine in her kitchen.This follows a series of events leading to her fall from grace.Mentions of violence, self harm and medical issues.
Relationships: Stella Gibson/Reed Smith
Comments: 112
Kudos: 117





	1. Blood Abiding

**Author's Note:**

> Might be a one-shot, might be a multi-chapter. I'm still working on it, but I have an idea on where it will go.  
> Let me know if you want me to continue because I want to explore Stella's bisexuality and relationships as much as her darkness. Writing her in a different environment (London Met) is proving challenging and therefore a lot of the main characters from Belfast aren't there, but I'll try my best to write them in somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 Theme song: Control - Halsey

Stella stood in the hall of her flat in London bruised, shaken, and exhausted. The Spector case had abruptly ended, and the cloak and dagger games she had lived for the past month had finally ceased. It was a relief for her to be home, but she still had not yet processed any of what had happened this last week. This case, unlike others, had taken a lot out of her both emotionally, and physically. 

She gazed down and observed the abundant scattered mail on the floor underfoot, as evidence of how long she had been away delving into the devil’s mind. She could no longer think or feel. Her body was too exhausted to prioritize any kind of need. She had been main-lining coffee and short 2-hour sleep schedules for too long as they consolidated the paperwork and closed the case. That combined with the attack meant her body needed rest as much as her mind did. It had all come to a screaming halt with Spector’s suicide, leaving many dead ends unanswered. She hated that it ended the way it did. He bested her by dying.  
Her whole body weighed down by the emotional turmoil brewing in her own mind. So many old wounds had been reopened and ripped raw. Now every part of her yearned for some form of oblivion that she could crawl into for the night.

Picking up the mail she made her way into the kitchen and tossed it on the counter. She pulled a bottle of red from the wine rack, not caring to glance at it before pouring a glass. Alcohol was alcohol. An escape.  
She slipped her hand into her suit pocket and removed Spector’s Irish 20-pound note. Forgetting she had left it there she read it again before clipping it to the notice board next to postcards, photos, and other memoirs from more pleasant times. 

HE THAT LOVES NOT, ABIDES IN DEATH

The words sat with her at the kitchen counter. Pondering them over the wine as she allowed herself to begin to unravel. Realizing she had no real love in her life. It was her who abides in death every day denying herself any kind of serious human relationships.  
She felt like too much of her intimate parts had been ripped out and beaten, just like her body had been. Her mind as bruised as she was physically. She poured herself glass after glass of wine. Sipping slowly with silent tears rolling down her cheeks in the dark. Alone. 

She wept for all the pain which had resurfaced from her youth, for her physical pain after being attacked, for being unable to hide her weaknesses, for being violated by the uncovering of her private thoughts, and for being weak and broken. Ever the professional woman her façade was so important. It was imperative that people only saw strength, but too much of her tainted history had been exposed. Her dream diary and all her dark intimacies are now evidence.  
She quietly cried sitting dead still staring at the note sipping wine and refilling her glass until the bottle was empty. Wiping her tears, she got up from the table and retrieved a bottle of Jameson from the top cupboard. Cusping a whisky tumbler she poured herself a generous helping and fell back onto the stool. 

Like the star her father always said she was, she stared intensely into deep space. 

The alcohol in her blood swayed her balance as she stood to leave the kitchen, and she savored the loss of control. Her tired tight muscles were loosening but still she felt tense. She felt as though she could tear herself apart at the seams and it still wouldn’t release the darkness seeping into her through the bruises. Speaking to young Katie had rekindled memories of her turbulent youth, and all the scars she kept hidden. The conversation so selfishly interrupted by Spectors death had shaken her, and now she struggled to grasp onto anything stable in her life.  
Her entire being was craving the need for a blade against her skin like she remembered. For the endorphin rush transfused with sharp precise pain. For the blood to run and for the light feeling of weakness to descend. It was too private a feeling for anyone to ever know about but her. It was like a dark secret addiction. 

She kicked off her stilettos and clumsily climbed the stairs. Her body was heavy and unresponsive courtesy of the alcohol. Exhaustion, injury, and darkness also slowed her progress. She moved towards the bathroom, set the diminishing whiskey down on the sink and turned on the bathtub taps. Feeling the water gush over a hand she changed the temperature until it approached scalding and left it to fill.  
She reached for her drink and stood. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror above the basin she carefully examined every pattern of the purple bruises on her face. Her cold and drained eyes absorbing the detail in each hue of blackened blood under the skin. It happened days ago, but she had not yet had the chance to become intimate with her injuries. To examine her damage. The stitched cut on her brow will probably leave a scar. A permanent mark on her that will publicly display a reminder of her fuck up on this case for eternity. Images flashed through her mind of Spectre attacking her. She felt his raw powerful strength overwhelm her once again. She hated that she couldn’t fight back against him and that she had never predicted he would attack at all. She hated that as much as she got into his head and sacrificed so much of her privacy for answers, it wasn’t enough.  
She spent years profiling, interviewing, and probing killers and criminals. She has seen the worst of them, the atrocities they committed, and the chaos that made them. Spector was different. Although he was painted by the same dark brush that made the rest, he got to her. He got under her skin in more ways than one. 

She unbuttoned her designer blouse, stepped out of her work clothes, and submerged herself under the hot water allowing herself to sink into the heat and relax. Tracing a finger over the white lines on her thighs, nostalgia tugging at her foggy brain, she yearned for that release once again. She held her head under for a while and succumbed to the floating sensation. Her blonde hair fanning out in the water. The stitch on her eyebrow stinging. She remembered how Spector bathed his victims after killing them. Images flashed from her nightmare and she felt a vice close in around her throat. She abruptly pulled herself up gasping for air as though even here, miles from his grave in Belfast, he was able to choke her. It disgusted her and sullied her relaxation. She climbed out shaking and reached for her whiskey. 

Wrapped up in her fluffy white bath robe, wet hair hanging limp and dripping around her shoulders, she opened the bathroom cabinet and reached into a small container at the back of the highest shelf. She had not needed this object in a very long time, but she always kept one. The tips of her fingers grasped tightly around a fresh surgical blade and she was careful not to slice them as she lifted it out. The light flickered as it reflected off its pristine metallic surface as if it were begging to cut something.  
A serenity overcame her as she held it within her fingertips. Thumb grazing against the blade testing its sharpness. Calmly collapsing to the floor and pulling back her gown she exposed all the marks of the past. Shiny white streaks scattered the soft fair skin of her upper thighs. She traced her fingertips over a couple getting intimate with the memories and melancholy that lead to their presence.  
It was then that need overcame her. She was not the same stable person who left for Belfast a month ago. Something in her had snapped, and all her usual avenues of control had been exhausted. She felt unstable in the tension. She needed this. There was a sharp sting, a burst of scarlet, and a powerful release as the endorphins flooded her system. She let out a moan and relinquished the tension held in every particle of herself. She gave herself to the sensation. Relaxing into the relief.  
Sighing every time blade met skin. Disappearing into oblivion. 

The first grey light of dawn tinted the sky outside as blood trickled freely into her robe and down to the glossy tile beneath her. Here, curled up on the cold hard floor she finally welcomed sleep.


	2. Oblivion Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stella's hangover and an introduction to her work back home at Scotland Yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens in this chapter, its kind of a build up for the next one which is where things start getting intense.  
> The things I put my characters through is downright disturbing but I love exploring how they act and feel in different scenarios.  
> Theme song: Hold Me Down - Halsey

The piercing shrill ring of the telephone on her bedside table shocked her abruptly awake the next morning. Lying on the bathroom floor in a foetal position Stella felt nothing but pain. Her body ached so much she barely dared to move, and her head throbbed so severely it felt as though it would split in two with any slight shift in her position. Gingerly she flickered her eyes open and took inventory of her location. The bathroom light was still on from the night before, yet the room was bright with mid-morning light streaming in from her adjacent bedroom window. She squinted against it in a pathetic attempt to block the assault on her senses. 

Every part of her body ached. She took a moment to orient her confusion and take inventory of her pain. The worst of it was her head, the fractured facial bone was amplifying a looming hangover, and now she was conscious the throbbing was unbearable. The telephone in the background had been picked up by her answering machine and she could hear the soft gravelly voice of her boss wafting in from the bedroom. 

“Stella its Chris, where are you? I have been trying to contact you all morning. When you get this give me a call, we need to discuss Belfast and I’ve got a new case for you to look over.”  
She ignored the phone and lifted her head gingerly off the floor before rising to a seated position against the side of the bathtub. Her gown fell aside revealing fresh cuts and blood covering her upper thighs amidst dark stains on her robe. The blade fell out from within the folds and onto the floor with a tinkle.

“Jesus” she breathed cursing herself when she spotted them, wondering what the hell possessed her to do this again. 

Her memory of the previous night was hazy, and she had no recollection of anything beyond sipping wine at the kitchen table while opening her mail. Her head throbbed angrily and all she could currently concentrate on was her need for water and pain killers. Slowly she lifted herself up wincing until she sat on the edge of the bath. Her stomach uneasy as she hesitantly felt the bruises left by Spector down the left side of her chest, stomach, and pelvis. Everything ached with every tiny movement she made. It was as though all she could feel was pain.  
When she finally stood her head spun and she felt like she would throw up. She gripped tight onto the vanity to steady herself before turning the tap, cupping a hand under the water, and bending forward to drink. 

All thoughts of work absent from her mind, as at present moment, all she could focus on was the atrocious state she was in. While gulping at the water hungrily she started piecing together what she’d need to get herself back to something resembling normal. She filled her belly quenching her thirst, first addressing her dehydration from the hangover. Next was a couple of prescription painkillers she was given by the Belfast ED to deal with the throbbing pain in her broken face, but her pills were still in her unpacked briefcase sitting by the front door downstairs. She considered retrieving them but wasn’t sure she could stand without holding on to something. 

When she raised her head up from the tap, lightning bolts of pain stabbed violently within her skull, and a swift bout of nausea overcame her. She collapsed down on the tiles beside the toilet as her stomach heaved and she violently vomited up the water. Her cracked rib, fractured face, and bruises in her side seared with pain from her convulsing torso and it was at this moment, fearful of blacking out entirely, she considered calling someone. Who though?... A friend? An ambulance perhaps? 

No. No one can know she was damaged enough to do this to herself. Any hint she wasn’t coping, and she would be submitted for a psychological evaluation at work. Perhaps limited permanently. She knew too many people at the hospital from the cases she had worked, and all her friends were from the force, eventually word would get out. She had to get herself together for the sake of her career. If only she had the forethought last night in her drunken haze to have unpacked her medication. Or any of her things really.  
She took several deep breaths, each one sending waves of fresh pain through her damaged rib and bruised torso. She fought to stay conscious against the percolating darkness threatening the edges of her vision and lowered herself down to lie on the floor. 

She couldn’t stay here. When she finally felt steady, she rolled onto her side and then carefully onto all fours. Fighting against the instinct of her own body she crawled to the sink and pulled herself up. The cupboard above contained a bottle of aspirin so she threw back a couple along with some water. Small sips this time to appease her stomach. Hoping this would begin to, at the very least, mitigate some of her aches. She peeled off her robe and stepped into the shower. Water always made her feel better, and now she was injured she missed swimming. She gently washed the blood from her legs, her cuts stung, the water running rosy around her feet. Thankfully, they were not too deep. In her drunken depressed stupor, the previous evening, she somehow had the sense to cut over existing scars. It meant there would be no evidence of new ones when they healed. 

She let the water run over herself for more minutes than she could count pondering her next move. She had to return to the office, but she also needed a decent rest. As much as she loved her work and the powerful feeling it gave her besting criminals, catching monsters, and caging them for their sins. She knew now that both her body and mind needed a break before she took on another case. She needed time to heal. Even though she never took holidays, she wanted as much distance as she could get between her and Spector. The only way to do so would be to remove herself from work entirely. The very thing which she lived for. 

It was pushing midday when she climbed into a cab. Dressed as impeccably as she usually did, looking no worse for wear than she had been entering her apartment the previous night. Her phone was dead, but she kept a charger in her desk. By the time her stilettos clicked on the familiar foyer floor of Scotland Yard she finally felt marginally like normal. She had successfully covered her damage just for now. Except for the bruises on her face which persistently showed even through her makeup. The pain in her body was subsiding and she was at least functional. Latte in hand she looked every part of her intimidating empowered self that stalked these halls as though she owned them. In part she did. Her success at manipulating people and politics in her favor had led to her being in the position she was today. 

The strong drugs for her broken bones had begun to take effect but without breakfast waves of weakness and light-headedness started to pull at her as she rode the elevator. Her office was a large glass box in the elite operational center many floors above the main precinct. On a clear day from her window she had a striking view of central London, but those days were rare, and she was often far too busy to appreciate it. Scanning her security card through the lock, she entered her office and propped the door open. Today, London’s famous fog obscured any beauty the city offered and instead beyond the glass, a sea of grey loomed doing nothing to placate her mood. 

She unpacked her laptop, phone charger, and the files she brought back from Belfast. She stared at them while waiting for her phone to charge, scowling with intensity as though Spector himself was sitting on her desk. 

“Ma’am.” One of her detectives Carly Miller, knocked in the doorway startling her unexpectedly from the angry muse. It made her jump and her skin now crawled with subsiding adrenalin. She was shakier than she expected.  
“Sorry Ma’am DCS Chris George has been wanting to see you. I didn’t know when you would be coming in.”  
When Stella looked up in Miller’s direction the shock upon seeing her boss’ bruises was evident on the young woman’s face.  
“I know.” Stella replied without acknowledging the reaction. “Is he in his office?” She asked without missing a beat. Collecting herself in an instant.  
“He’s in a press conference. You might be able to catch him later.” There was a concern in Carly’s tone as she spoke, and Stella knew she was going to ask about her welfare.  
“What for? Is it down in the media center?” she immediately questioned before Carly could check on her.  
“Yes Ma’am, there’s a missing child, a very high-profile case.” Carly replied tentatively.  
“Thank you, Carly. He contacted me earlier.” She dismissed, an air of finality in her tone. 

She quickly opened her laptop and scanned through her emails for any from her boss. There was one received last night containing a case-file for seven missing children from various parts of greater London. All young boys, all found in the same position with evidence of sexual assault. She sighed scanning through the few crime scene photos attached. More abuse, more death, and more destruction of innocent little lives. 

She closed her laptop and shoved the Spector files aside. She had been meaning to consolidate and sort through them this morning before turning them over to Chris for the Foyle Clinic inquiry she was inevitably going to be dragged into to testify. In all that happened last night she had not yet completed that task.  
“Miller.” She called standing. “I’ll be down in the media center if anyone else comes looking for me.”  
“Yes Ma’am.” Carly replied re-appearing in the doorway. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” she offered.  
“Nothing for now.” She said shoving her phone and ID into her pockets.

As she moved from behind her desk Stella caught her thigh on the sharp corner of the table. It jabbed right into one of her wounds from last night. Before she knew what had happened, an instant burning flare of white-hot pain shot through her body like a lightning strike emanating from the cut scar on her leg. Her knees immediately buckled, and her head spun out. She leaned heavily on her desk with both hands and bowed her head down closing her eyes. Wincing against the pain while fighting for consciousness.  
“Ma’am, are you okay?” the detective asked still hovering in the doorway.  
Blackness was fuzzing her vision, so she clung to the desk. She didn’t want to appear ill.  
“I’m fine, just a little dizzy.” She sunk back into her chair doing her best to hang on to reality as the room moved around her. The vertigo was unsettling her stomach and nausea began to bubble up within her.  
“Is there anything I can get for you?” Miller asked from the doorway.  
“Just some water.” She sighed leaning forwards and burying her head in her lap hoping it would increase blood flow to her head and stabilize the dizziness. A dark stain was appearing on her thigh where the cut had reopened and bled through her navy wool blend work trousers. It was throbbing intensely. Evidently tracking down her boss in the buzz of a press conference would have to wait, at least for the moment. 

She sat there for a while, head bowed, cursing her stupidity from the previous night. Consuming a bottle of wine alone was a poor choice at best but chasing it with an unknown amount of whisky was downright idiotic. It had been over a decade since she’d been that drunk but she couldn’t ever remember being as hungover as she did right now. Even in her wild rebellious youth the worst she ever experienced was nothing compared to how she currently felt. Perhaps it was her injuries, perhaps the lack of a half decent sleep, or perhaps it was simply her age. Either way she deeply regretted the entire evening and her relapse into old unhealthy coping mechanisms. 

Carly returned with a bottle of water and placed it on the desk in front of her.  
“Ma’am are you sure you’ll be alright? You don’t look well.” Carly’s concern finally being expressed.  
Stella relaxed into the back of her chair now that her vertigo had dissipated, but she still felt nauseous. Under the desk she held a tissue firmly over the cut on her leg with her palm so it would soak up some of the blood which had seeped through.  
“I’m fine.” She lied, her voice icy and calm. Hoping the reassurance would be enough to satisfy the young detective’s curiosity she continued on with a distraction and sipped at the water. “Tell me about this case Chris is headlining with the missing boy. Did he select any of our staff for the task-force?” She dabbed the tissue on her trousers confident the bleeding had stopped. She knew she would probably have to dress the wound and clean the stain.  
“Yes, he recruited Detective Redmond and Officer Bridgeman.” Carly said closing the door behind her and sitting at the desk opposite.  
“Mmm.” Stella hummed mulling over her boss’ choices. It made sense that he took Bridgeman, the officer had a background in children’s services, but Kelly Redmond, other than being a pretty blonde, didn’t have a lot to offer so she assumed it was purely superficial. “Go on.” She gestured taking another drink. It cooled and soothed her jumpy stomach momentarily but did little to resolve it.

“Well it was homicide from downstairs who had found similarities in several cases of child murders over the last six months.” Carly continued keeping a close eye on Stella. “Did he send you the casefile?”  
“Yes. He did last night but I only glimpsed at it.” Stella replied honestly. It was rare for her not to get through work. She always made a point of remaining up to date with any active cases. This particular one, involved seven children all found deceased a month after being reported missing with similar pre-mortem injuries and the same cause of death.  
“The boy went missing six days ago on the weekend from Kensington.” Carly said still examining Stella.  
“That’s a wealthy area.” She replied now understanding the immediate publicity. “Who are the parents?” she asked. Given the location she assumed the child would belong to someone of notoriety.  
“I’m not familiar with them." Carly said. "They’re film executives, writers, or producers or something.” the Detective added.  
“Mmm okay. Thank you.” Stella said and indicated to Carly that it was her a cue to leave. Although she had about a dozen more questions, despite the water, she was beginning to feel properly ill. Cursing this damned hang-over she waited for the detective to leave before resting her elbows on the desk in front of her and burying her face into her hands. It wasn’t long before a wave of nausea welled up again, so she warily stood and made for the bathroom. 

The hallway seemed to move around her as the vertigo waxed and waned. She pushed against it and focused intently on the path ahead of her while fighting her stomach. At every step she felt like she would be sick or pass out and she hoped she would make it to a bathroom stall before she succumbed to either of them. Collapsing publicly in the hall would not do her professional reputation any favors at present. Between the bruises she was sporting and the Belfast rumors, she would be under a close watchful eye by her colleagues and superiors for a while.  
Reaching the reprieve of the bathroom with a shaky hand she closed the stall door behind her. Her body, it seemed, was hell bent on rejecting anything she put into it, so she knelt down and just let it happen. Pain stabbing with each exertion until there was nothing left inside her.

After dry heaving several times her body finally resigned its relentless crusade and she took a breather leaning against the stall walls for a moment. A few minutes passed before she emerged from the stall, watery eyed and weak looking like an absolute train wreck. She cupped a hand under the tap to rinse out her mouth but the burning taste of acid lingering in her throat was more difficult to clear. She coughed a couple of times, and nearly dry heaved into the sink. She ached everywhere. Thoughts crossed her mind about giving up entirely and going home but her boss specifically asked to speak with her, and she knew he would be expecting a full report. She had been at work less than an hour and her condition had deteriorated to that no better than when she awoke on the floor that morning. A press conference with all the cameras and media present was the last the place she wanted to be lurking around looking for him in her present condition. Not to mention the copious amount of policing staff she would have to confront who usually turned out to watch these. Nevertheless, she had to report to her superior and she wanted to get an ear in on this missing child case. 

She pulled some paper towel out of the dispenser and dried her hands before dabbing at the tears around her eyes. Gazing into the mirror she was careful not to disrupt her make-up, but it didn’t matter. The dark under-eye circles were clearly visible from beneath it regardless. She was shaky and weak still, and composed herself slowly by intently spacing her breathing. She pulled at her hair and tossed it out hoping the styling from earlier that morning would hold. As she adjusted a few strands she took in her appearance. Her complexion a sickly porcelain white, visible even through her foundation which made the bruising only more prominent. It seemed no matter what she did today to make herself presentable, she still looked and felt like utter shit. Defeated she sighed and turned to leave to find Chris downstairs. Her stiletto’s clattering on the tiled surface echoing around the empty bathroom. 

Today that sound was now all that held her professional allure together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written the next chapter and part of the one after but I need some time to mull them over and edit extensively before I can think about posting as they're quite deep and intense.  
> They're very Stella-centric but I promise to bring in some family, friends, and other characters. And more on the new case!  
> As always comments/feedback welcome. Even if its grammar/spelling suggestions. I'm getting by without a Beta and writing during uni session while managing health issues has proven challenging. I am however addicted to writing Stella so there will be more.


	3. Fallen Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Over the edge and over again." 
> 
> Struggling to keep herself composed during a conversation with her boss Stella looses the fight against her own body and a fall highlights her breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New character POV which I found challenging. I much prefer writing from Stella's POV but I felt like I should tell this part from another perspective.  
> The things I put Stella through are full on but I promise things will ease up eventually. Lets be real it wouldn't be Stella if it wasn't intense.  
> Here's some abbreviations used in case you're not familiar with the terminology if there's any I missed let me know.  
> DCS: Detective Chief Superintendent  
> DSU: Detective Superintendent  
> SIO: Senior Investigative Officer 
> 
> As always comments and feedback welcome. I'm sorry if this chapter seems messy or not as well written as the others.   
> Theme song: If The World Was Ending - JP Saxe & Julia Michaels
> 
> P.S. I've started the next chapter but I've had to distance myself from writing lately to focus on study. Its been difficult to get back into her and I've hit a bit of a block. So it could be a while before we see her recover I am so sorry. I promise I wont abandon this.

“Good Lord Gibson! Chris exclaimed upon seeing her as he exited the media room and found her loitering in the hall waiting for him. “What the hell did they do to you up in Belfast?” he asked taken aback noticing the bruises on her face. He was shocked, but she didn’t seem at all surprised by his reaction as she sipped at her water bottle. She had probably been subject to similar reactions all morning. “You look awful.” He added taking in her pale features.

“I was attacked by the suspect in the interview room.” She replied nonchalantly as though it was an everyday normal occurrence. “It’s my fault, I should’ve predicted he would act out.” She added calmly. 

“Well don’t let it get to you, half the time unpredictability is their only strong suit.” He said offhandedly. “Anyway, I couldn’t get hold of you this morning. I thought you left Belfast yesterday?” He asked indicating that she should walk with him. He figured the reason her phone was out of action was because she had instead flown back this morning. Now the press conference was over he was heading back upstairs to his office. 

“I did.” She said simply. Not offering anything else as explanation for her unavailability. 

“Where have you been?” He inquired casually. It was unlike her to drop off the radar like that. 

“Sleeping. It was a late flight.” She replied in that classic glacial soft tone he was so accustomed to hearing. It was a smooth come-back and likely a lie, but he wasn’t going to press her for whatever reason she had for her tardiness. It was out of character for her but given the state of her, he assumed whatever reason she had, it would at least be a good one. He wasn't going to push it. 

“Right, well I emailed you a case-file last night I’d like your opinion before we proceed further with it, I’ve got DSU Colin McGuire as SIO, but if you wanted in I can put you as deputy, I think that’s an appropriate position after Belfast. I understand there will be an inquiry at the clinic by the commissioner?” He began getting straight to the point and querying her. He usually kept conversations about a case within the security of his office, but he needed to bring her up to speed, and he was curious.

“Yes multiple. One for each death and the shooting. I did everything by the book though, there shouldn’t be any serious repercussions. I caught the criminal, built a strong case, and found the hostage. I don’t know what more they really expected from me.” She said, displeasure riding on her cool tone. “I was only meant to be there a week. I could never have known it would turn into a two-month long saga unraveling a web of chaos.” She gestured for the pair of them to take the stairs and he nodded in agreeance. It made sense, this would be faster, and they couldn’t chat openly in the elevators right now. It was too busy with the press packing up and leaving.

“I’m sure you did.” He chuckled. “You’re an excellent game player but I got wind of your extra-curricular activities so in future you should tone down the fun, or at least be more subtle about it.” he infused his tone with a slight warning. He knew she was very good at keeping her promiscuity quiet because very few others on his team knew of her antics. 

“That was my intention, but he was shot, which then resulted in an investigation. And I severely underestimated the scale of the corruption.” She replied coldly, taking another sip of water. There was an inflection of frustration in her voice. 

“Yes, well I did warn you.” He smirked. “Did you want in on this case with the boys?” he asked. Although she had only just returned he knew if he didn’t give her a case she would find one of her own accord. 

“Actually, I was going to ask for next week off.” She said tentatively. She seemed a little momentarily unfocused but continued none the less. “I believe I have an abundance of sick leave that can be used.” Her answer surprised him. She had never called in sick in the several years she had been working under him. 

“I glimpsed over the case and if needed I can review it in more depth however, I will be declining any active role in pursuing it.” She added professionally. 

“Is there something going on? Are you alright?” he asked, now genuinely concerned. She did look like absolute hell so her need for down time was obviously warranted. 

“I need a break.” She said simply. Icily masking any real basis to the request. “If you need a sick note give Dr Phillip O’Donnell at Belfast ED a call.” She added evidently to pique his interest without actually relinquishing a reason. 

She must've been beaten hard for her to ask for time off. Even if that wasn't the whole story he should’ve known she wasn’t going to give it, but the fact that she pointed him in that direction told him all he needed to know. He mulled over an answer momentarily as he considered the paperwork he would have to sort for her. He would need to reallocate personnel temporarily, but it wouldn’t be too difficult. They were halfway up the flight of stairs between stories. Then with no warning, like a marionette with cut strings, Stella’s eyes rolled back and her body gave out completely beneath her. Before he could act, she cascaded down the stairs crashing to a heap on the landing at the bottom. Until that moment, although she looked a little worse for wear, he had no idea she was likely to pass out entirely. 

“OFFICER DOWN!” He shouted panicking and bemused as he turned following her as she collapsed. 

There were a couple of people milling around a flight above them who came rushing down towards him. 

“Someone call an ambulance!” He demanded. 

“Gibson!” 

Her form was dead cold still at the bottom of the stairs, and she didn’t stir when he called her name. He leaned down and found that she wasn’t breathing. His first aid training kicked in and he started checking her over. The fall must’ve winded her so he rolled her flat on her back and squeezed her shoulders calling her name again.

“Stella!” 

Receiving no response, he tilted her head back in the hopes that opening her airway would encourage breathing. He checked her pulse and thankfully her heart was still beating but it was rapid and weak. 

“Come on Stella, breathe for me.” He said to her. 

Preparing himself to administer mouth to mouth. He adjusted his position on his knees and leaned down. This wasn’t the first time in his policing career he had to resuscitate a colleague, but it was the first time he was ever this up close and personal with Stella. It felt intrusive touching her, she was a private and powerful force of nature but now this moment kind of ruined some of that. She seemed so small, delicate, and helpless.

A single breath was all it took. She came too with a start drawing in a giant gasping breath. There was blatant sheer terror in her eyes which was something he had never seen in her before. It shocked him yet again seeing her like this. 

“Easy Stella. Slow down. Take it in and out, nice and steady.” He reassured her. 

The panic wasn’t going to help her in the slightest if she kept gasping. She got in a few half decent breaths and it seemed like they were in the clear for the moment, but it wasn’t long before her breathing became increasingly labored. Her chest and body began convulsing in time with short sharp gasping spasms. Clearly there was something wrong with her lungs which had occurred as a result of the fall. He felt helpless, there was nothing he could think of to do to help her. 

“Where’s that damn ambulance?” He called back to the assisting staff. She was slipping unconscious again and it was clear that without immediate medical assistance she would be in very real danger.

“Five minutes they said.” The detective behind him answered. 

“What about a doctor? Is the medical examiner here? Someone get them.” He said, his own panic leaking into the urgency of his tone.

“I’ll call down to the morgue.” Someone answered. 

It was a perilously long few minutes as they waited. He considered CPR but the muscles of her chest and neck were tight and convulsing, and the veins in her neck were beginning to protrude severely. He could also see her windpipe had pulled to one side. It seemed like her chest was under an immense amount of pressure and he was worried that adding CPR would do more harm than good. Instead he stabilized her head tilting it back to open her throat and prayed that whatever was going on, she could hold out until help arrived. 

The medical examiner, Dr Elizabeth Davies, a middle aged silver haired fox of a woman came hurrying in with her doctor’s bag moments later. Someone had evidently told her what was happening, and that she would need it.

“Let her through.” Chris said towards the crowed now gathering in the stairwell around them. Some of his staff from around his office had evidently heard him call out before. 

“What’s happening?” She asked pushing her way in. 

“It’s Stella Gibson. She fell down the stairs and now she’s not breathing. I think there’s something wrong with her chest.” Chris said in a panicky tone. 

She took a moment to look her over checking her here and there, pulling out her stethoscope and a few things from her case which she immediately opened up on the stairwell floor.

“Tension pneumothorax.” She mumbled kneeling down beside Stella and reaching for a syringe. She pulled the plug out of it, placed a hypodermic needle on the end, and unbuttoned the top of Stella’s shirt. She palpated her fingers down the left side of her sternum, counting as she touched, then in a swift violent movement she plunged the needle straight into her chest between two ribs. There was a light hissing sound of air escaping from the syringe and slowly the pressure seemed to ease in Stella’s body. 

“Hold this steady but don’t touch the base.” She gestured for him to hold the syringe still in Stella while she put her stethoscope on. 

He held it as steady as his shaky hand would allow. A soft slow hiss continued as air escaped and Stella’s collapsed lung slowly came back to life. He saw the tension in her body subside as her muscles relaxed. 

Elizabeth listened intently moving the stethoscope around to multiple locations.

“Nice save doc.” he breathed a nervous relief. He could hear the ambulance siren getting close now and Stella began to breathe. 

“Her lung has re-inflated but she’s not breathing well. She needs a chest tube and a respirator.” Elizabeth answered seriously. “It’s likely she broke a rib in the fall.” She retrieved the airway support balloon and placed it over Stella’s mouth and nose, softly pressing on the bulb in a rhythmic manor. 

The pair of them knelt silently, frozen in place over Stella, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the paramedics.

Assisting her breath by breath. 

\--------------------------------------------

Stella regained some semblance of consciousness as they were putting her in the ambulance. There was an oxygen mask over her face obscuring what little vision she had in her groggy state and she was strapped tight to a gurney in a neck brace. There were very few times in her life where she had been overcome with real perilous mortal fear, and this was one of them. Her body felt weak and light, but her chest had the sensation that someone was standing on it, crushing her, and her ribs ached with a deep heavy intensity stifling any breath she tried to make. A comprehension of the events which had just transpired was rapidly coming to her and she was flooded by an array of emotion. Embarrassment reared up white hot intensely engulfing her, as was fear, and something else she couldn’t quite place. Perhaps guilt? She was aware that her boss was still present. Usually astute and level-headed she had never seen him with a worried expression. He looked disheveled and anxious, it was something which she immediately filed into her memory as her own embarrassment flared up again. A couple of detectives were milling around having assisted with the carry, Det. Miller included, who she thankfully saw place her coat and handbag into the ambulance. That girl had good instincts and she must remember to thank her sometime. Out the corner of her eye she saw the medical examiner Liz climb into the ambulance, stethoscope draped around her neck, along with the two paramedics. She felt guilty that this incident had pulled the woman away from her work. Someone else’s case would now be delayed because of her and perhaps as a result a criminal may not be caught. The guilt welled up matching her embarrassment and she was overwhelmed by the feelings fighting for her attention. As the doors were closed and the engine started a single tear escaped her eyes and leaked down the side of her face which then opened a floodgate. Her eyes filled so much that she couldn’t see anymore but she no longer cared. Something in her had let go of reality and she cried. Hard. Her eyes drowned out the world in a sea of tears as body shaking sobs took over her. Her lungs fighting for breath in a fresh new ocean of suffocating obscurity. 

“Stella its okay, you’ll be alright we’re getting you to the hospital.” Liz cooed in a soft reassuring voice as she squeezed her hand. 

She had not a care in the world anymore for what happened to her body. It was her career and reputation she mourned. She knew no matter what was wrong physically she would not be looked at the same by her colleagues ever again. 

She felt as the ambulance swerved through the narrow streets of London’s CBD, and even though she knew the area well she didn’t have the strength to mentally track where they were. There was an ever-increasing dull pain deep in her chest and despite the oxygen mask it was becoming harder and harder for her to draw breaths. It felt like her lungs were slowly giving out on her. Like they had reached the end of their tether and run out of strength. 

“cnt… brthe.” She murmured, clumsily pulling at the oxygen mask barely coherent. 

“Stay still, we’re almost there.” Came a quiet comforting male voice as a hand was placed on her shoulder by one of the paramedics. 

“... hurts.” She mumbled groggily trying her hardest to communicate the fact that she was struggling. The tightness in her chest slowly intensifying. She tried to cough a little but couldn’t pull any air in and sharp pain reared up all over her torso radiating throughout her. It was then that her body violently convulsed and her left side seared with fresh new wave of pain. 

“Where’s her BP?” The elder paramedic asked. 

Although she was lying down, and barely conscious, darkness pressed ominously around her and she was only partially aware of her surrounds.

“Dropping fast. We need to get an IV in her.” The other paramedic answered examining the instrument he was holding. 

Thinking she was dying the last thing she comprehended before losing consciousness yet again was a flurry of activity as people sprang into action around her. 

The sirens and movement was replaced by darkness and silence as she slipped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really struggling with writing this next chapter. Major writers block. I'm convinced its all inaccurate and essentially trash.


	4. Breathe. Respire. Choke.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stella finds herself in the ICU, a rather compromising position for her, and begins her recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been by far the hardest chapter to write. I did my best getting the medical procedures accurate but still feel like its all wrong. Not much happens in this and I planned to cover more but I struggled to fit it all in.  
> As always comments and suggestions welcome :)
> 
> Song inspiration: Drown - Boy In Space

_“Little star, what have you done?” The soft gravelly voice of her father spoke to her from the void and into her slumber. The memory of him came flooding back and she felt his hand on her belly rub gentle circles like he used to when she was a little girl._

_“Nothing Daddy.. I fainted.” She replied innocently, sensing his presence and reveling in hearing his voice again. His touch was a warm comfort against the cold pain which had taken up residence within her during this last week._

_“You need to look after yourself darling.” He whispered to her. “Someone needs you.” he held his hand steady on her abdomen as though through his fingertips a healing warmth would transfer into her. “I need you.” He added._

_She felt his love spread from him like a golden glow radiating through her body and it felt good having him near. He was healing her._

_“I miss you.” She whispered as emotion welled up within her. She never wanted this moment to end. She wanted to stay here in the dreamscape with her father forever basking in his comforting love._

_“I miss you too Stella.” His hand lifted off her belly, so she reached out and grasped onto him. She wanted to hold onto him forever and never let him go._

_“I have to go now.” He said as his hand squeezed hers in reassurance then slipped out from her fingertips like fine silk._

_“Don’t go... please.” She begged. She wasn’t sure she could continue without him, she wasn’t ready to. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. It tore at her heart knowing he couldn’t stay._

_“I love you little star.” He whispered comfortingly into her ear. His voice echoing through her slumber._

_“Don’t forget to breathe.” He said as his presence faded into the darkness and he left her._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inhale…

Exhale…

Inhale…

Exhale…

She woke to the soft hissing and clicks of the ventilator as air flowed in and out. The tube down her throat, although it facilitated her breathing, was invasive and suffocating. Various other wires and tube lines were attached to her including a bag of AB+ blood hanging with the saline IV, along with several monitors. Her chest felt heavy, like it had sunk to the crushing black oblivion in the depths of the ocean. And she knew, although she despised it, that without the respirator she likely wouldn’t have the strength to force her oppressed lungs into sustaining consistent breath. The only reprieve was that she was no longer in pain. She lay there, her chest rising and falling to the mechanical rhythm, wondering how on earth a couple of extra glasses of wine could’ve led to this.

It wasn’t about the wine though. Or the whiskey. Or the self-inflicted half-night she spent curled up on the bathroom tiles bleeding.

No.

It was the string of bad choices she had made over the last few months. Ignoring her body and putting the needs of work and other desires before it. It was something of a career long habit of hers. She maintained the bare minimum in order to put as many hours into solving a case. She sympathized with families and victims alike and felt guilty if she wasn’t putting all she had into catching those responsible. Never once had it led to anything serious until now. She had pushed herself too far.

This was her breaking point.

Spector.

He managed to affect her in ways no other criminal or case had done before. When he wrote in her dream diary about reading her entries she felt insurmountably violated. Like he had raped her. Her mind, her thoughts, her secrets, and in a way he did. Her life and her possessions were no longer hers. They were bound to him. Seized as evidence. Part of the case. Part of him. As much as she refused to adhere to that notion, he made her a victim; and in that aspect, he owned her. When he spoke of those secrets in the interrogation room, she was struck physically ill. The truth he unveiled in his observations of her father sickened her. In that moment she felt like he had stabbed her square in the chest with a poisoned dagger, and through it, all his darkness was able to seep into her. Afterwards it took every ounce of strength to contain herself just to meet eyes and acknowledge Chief Jim Burns for that fleeting moment in the hall. He, along with Anderson, had been there listening in via the other room. Watching Spector. Watching her. She never felt more exposed. Not once in all the years testifying in a courtroom or speaking under media lights had any moment matched the raw intensity of that one. She marched from the hall after with all the composure she could muster but was sick immediately upon accessing solitude. Disturbingly it gave her some kind of cathartic release. Getting something out even if it was her lunch. It made her feel lighter, invigorated, reckless even.  
  
When Spector killed himself though, it all changed. She felt as though the ground itself had been abruptly yanked out from beneath her. Like something important had been stolen from her. All the hard work put in, and sacrifices made for the case would amount to nothing. Her entire world while she was in Belfast had been anchored to and entwined so deeply into it. Then all of a sudden it wasn’t, and she had nothing. It was her own fault though, and she knew it. She had given him the idea only moments before he attacked her. She wanted him locked up. Caged. She said death was too easy for him. Yet instead, in death, he managed to obtain the ultimate freedom. Resulting in her ending up here, pinned to a hospital bed, weighed down by her own mistakes.

Lulled by the mechanical rhythm of the respirator she drifted in and out of sleep for a while having no semblance of how much time had passed. And no interest either. Slowly various parts of her body were beginning to make themselves known and along with the heaviness in her chest she felt stiffness in her back and legs. Eventually a nurse appeared in her room to check on her.

“Ah Stella. You’re awake, are you in any pain?” He asked flipping through her chart.

Stella shook her head gently. He had the name ‘Jason’ printed across the name badge pinned to the pocket on his scrubs.

“Hang tight we’ll get the doc in to take you off the ventilator in a sec.” he said in a cheery voice before disappearing for a moment. He returned with a tall doctor whom Stella didn’t recognize.

“Hi Stella, I’m Dr Avon Brinley.” He smiled. “We’re going to turn off the ventilator and see how your breathing is.” He said confidently stepping in and examining her chart.

He moved over towards her bed, clicked off the machine and the remainder of the air within the tubing was released. He slowly pulled the tube from her throat and she wanted to cough but couldn’t. She felt momentarily airless as her lungs refused to function and take in a new breath. Panic was beginning to descend, and she darted her eyes around the room before laying them on Dr Brinley. He motioned to her encouragingly with his hands to relax.

“Just relax, it should come naturally.” He breathed smiling lightly.

The heaviness of her chest was suffocating. It felt tight and constricting and her building panic was causing her heart to race. The doctor’s eyes flew up to the monitors above her as he noticed the change in the frequency of her heart rate. She couldn’t force her chest to move, it was as though all the small muscles that were usually used to breathe had forgotten how to work. The nurse put a mask over her mouth and nose, and she felt the oxygen flow within it. It was cool and fresh with a hint of metallic staleness which piqued the scent receptors in her nostrils. She inhaled deeply and rapidly, drawing in almost to the point of dizziness.

“There it is, easy now Stella, pace yourself.” The doctor said. Watching as her monitors normalized.

Her first few breaths were wheezy, irregular, and forced. There was an itchy irritation in her lungs and she felt the need to cough but she was too weak. It was an uncomfortable position to be suspended in. She couldn’t quite get a rhythm going and had to purposefully concentrate on making air flow in and out of her. As her chest expanded with each frantic inhalation, she felt a twinge in her side. A restricting sharp pain she was not familiar with. She tried to look down and with great effort attempted to lift her hand up to feel what it was.

“Don’t.” The doc said gently reaching for her and blocking it. “There’s still a drainage tube in your chest.” He said easing her hand back down to the bed gently. “I’ll come by later to remove it if you have no more issues. In the meantime, I just want you to rest and let your body recover.” He finished and added a few notations to her chart.

Slowly the panic subsided, and her heart rate normalized as the oxygen worked its way into her lungs. With each breath it became easier, less forced, and eventually she could continue without having to think about it too much. The nurse quietly adjusted the lines and IV’s.

“We’re going to ease you off some of the medications so you should let me know when you’re in pain.” He said gently and pulled a nasal cannula out and attached it to the oxygen behind her bed.

Her throat was raspy, dry, and raw courtesy of the recent respirator tube and she didn’t think she could speak yet. Her whole body was weak, and everything was moving too fast for her. Like time had sped up and was being rushed somehow. She was aware of the incident in the stairwell which led her here and knew she fainted. She also knew she was injured as a result but didn’t know the details or the extent of those injuries yet. The nurse prepared the nasal cannula for her and gestured to replace the face-mask with it. Stella wasn’t sure she was ready to remove it though, the mask felt comforting and protective. Stoically she pulled it off drawing strength from a place within her she didn’t usually access and allowed the nurse to thread the cannula around her ears. He had a delicate precise touch and took care not to get it tangled in her hair.

“Thank you.” She could barely manage a whisper. Her voice gravelly and quiet.

“Would you like some water.” He asked and adjusted the bed controls so she was able to sit upright. She nodded timidly and he moved to pour her a cup.

“Do you know what happened?” Dr Brinley asked still watching her closely.

“Fainted.” She said softly now acutely aware of the events in the stairwell as the memories came to her. Her mind was still foggy curtesy of the recent anaesthesia and it was a struggle forcing it to work, piecing together her new reality. The nurse handed her the water and it was heavy in her shaky weak hand. Worried she might spill it she took a tiny sip allowing the cooling taste to wet her mouth and the refreshing liquid soothed her throat as it glided down.

“Do you know where you are?” Dr Brinley questioned tentatively.

“ICU. St Thomas Hospital… if I had to guess.” She replied huskily. It wasn’t a hard guess it was the closest hospital to the police HQ and she was very familiar with it as it was also where her father practiced as a surgeon before he died. The doctor seemed surprised by her precise attentiveness, but she didn’t think it was that impressive. “How bad is it?” She asked hoping to grasp a more detailed account of her injuries.

“You broke two ribs, one of them in multiple places, which punctured your left lung causing it to collapse.” Dr Brinley said starting slowly and watched to see she was following along as he spoke. “There was a build-up of blood and air in the space between your lung and the chest wall. Which is why there’s a drainage tube.” He nodded towards the tube in her side and the collection system below on the side of the bed before carrying on. “We surgically repaired the rib by putting in a plate to act as an internal splint, but you will need further surgery to remove the metal plating once it heals.” He said finally filling her in on everything.

She sighed, angry with herself for allowing this to happen she should’ve taken better care of herself. It was stupid going to work in the state she was, even more stupid was drinking herself into an oblivion the night before. 

“How much time will I need to be away from work?” Stella asked quietly, realizing the week of leave she already requested will probably need to be extended.

“It will take around six weeks for the fractures to heal before we can remove the plating.” He said considering her question. “You’ll probably need another week or so after the second surgery provided there are no complications.” He finished and stepped over to the end of the bed where her chart was hanging.

She nodded scathing internally. This meant it would be nearly two months before she would be fit for active duty.

“Is there anything else?” Dr Brinley asked. He made a final notation on the chart and the nurse had already left.

Stella shook her head. She had no immediate questions about her condition. Only that she wished she knew how she managed to land herself in this situation. Clearly it wasn’t her year.

The doctor had his hand on the door handle and was about to leave when Stella realised, she wanted to see a friend.

“Wait” she said softly. “Could you contact someone for me?” she asked tentatively.

“Sure thing. A family member perhaps?” he stopped and turned towards her.

“No.” She adjusted her position in the bed. “My medical proxy Dr Gerrard Fraser, he’s in paediatrics. I would like to see him.” She relinquished.

If Dr Brinley was put out by the fact that she just asked to see another doctor he didn’t show it. Instead he smiled apparently aware of who he was. “He was here earlier before you went into surgery, but he had to leave. I will let him know you’re awake.” He replied calmly.

Stella watched as he turned the door handle and departed with a nod. She tilted her head back into the pillows and closed her eyes relieved that Gerry had already been here as part of her care. He was like an uncle to her, and as a friend of her fathers, he had watched her grow up. She trusted him implicitly and he was one of the few people on this planet she was close to. He knew so many of her secrets and had helped her anytime she needed it despite having his own family to raise. It had been a while since they had spoken as they both had intense jobs and Stella missed him.

It was a few hours before Dr Brinley returned to remove the chest tube. Stella winced when he pulled it out and gritted her teeth every time the needle pierced her skin as he stitched the wound before dressing it. The numbness provided by her earlier anaesthesia was wearing off and various aches and pains were making themselves known all over her body. Along with the cut on her eyebrow she now had twelve stitches across two wounds in her left side; one where they repaired her rib and the other from the drainage tube. Parts of her legs, back, and pelvis ached too, and she was sure her body was covered in bruising from the concrete stairs where she fell.

As the afternoon wore on the nurse brought her dinner which she barely took a few mouthfuls from. Partly because the sub-par hospital food was not very appetising for her refined palate and partly because she was feeling inexplicably nauseous again. The anaesthesia had almost completely worn off and the effects of the decreasing pain medications was getting to her. There was a restrictive tightness in her left chest each time she took a breath, and if she inhaled too much or too fast the pain stabbed severely. Her wounds were tender and sore where they had been stitched and combined with the aches from her bruises, she felt irritable and uncomfortable. She flicked the TV on and scanned through the channels in hopes of catching some news. The only broadcast she stumbled upon was rife with the usual political drivel and sports nonsense but managed to cover a feature indicating the safe return of the missing Kensington boy. She was puzzled by this and she wanted to know details of how a case which was so closely linked to a serial murderer managed to end in this way. Perhaps the profile of the family drew too much attention for the killer to want to continue and risk being caught, or perhaps it was Scotland Yard who incorrectly attributed a basic missing person situation to be something more. Either way it irked her and she felt like something just wasn’t right with that scenario. She clicked the TV off as the broadcast ended and considered calling her boss for more details. It was unlikely he would give them to her while she was here though which reignited the frustration with herself for ending up in hospital. She was tired and irritable now which only added to that aggravation. As the time passed and the drugs left her system, she was slowly becoming overwhelmed by the pain. Her muscles tensed against it and she was increasingly sweaty and sick. When she felt like she would vomit into her lap she reluctantly pressed the button on her bed to call the nurse.

“I feel ill.” She said softly with a hand on her stomach when he asked her what the matter was.

“Nauseous?” he asked looking at her purposefully.

She nodded meagrely. She felt guilty and embarrassed she had to pull him away from other patents.

“Are you in any pain?” he gazed her over with an examining eye.

“Yes.” She replied barely audible. Her voice was still weak from the intubation and she thought if she opened her mouth again, she would be sick.

“It’s to be expected.” He said moving to the IV lines and adjusting the morphine levels. “It could be from the anaesthesia or the pain.” He added before pouring her some water and handing it to her. She took a couple of tentative sips and felt the morphine slowly work its way back into her system, but it was doing little to help her stomach. Evidently he noticed she wasn’t feeling any better because he quickly moved towards the door.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” He said excusing himself before stepping out.

He returned barely a minute later with a couple of sick bags. He placed them on the table in her room and picked up the abandoned food tray.

“You haven’t eaten much.” He said noticing she had barely touched it. “You should though it will help you get your strength back.” He crossed the room again and made to leave with the tray.

Stella didn’t reply, she was focusing all her energy on not throwing up, but it was the mention of food which pushed her over the edge. She felt the bile rise from within and reached for one of the bags promptly emptying the scant contents of her stomach yet again. She lifted a hand to her forehead and noticed it was damp with sweat. She had never been this ill in her life and wished she knew why she had been so nauseous recently. Normally she had an iron strong stomach and could handle the most disgusting and grotesque crime scenes without it registering anything. She would sit and flick through crime scene photos while eating on the regular without it putting her off the meal. Now however even the thought of consuming food was too much for her newly sensitive disposition. Nothing was making sense and she wanted to see Gerry more than ever.

“It’ll pass soon” the nurse said seeing her puke and placing the tray back down. “It’s normal after surgery to feel unwell.” He added reassuringly, plucking the sick bag from her fingers and handing her some water with a tissue.

Her tender throat burned from the acid as she dabbed at her mouth. “I’m sorry.” She croaked, embarrassed she just threw up dinner in front of him and took some sips of the water.

“Don’t worry.” He said. “You’ll feel better after some sleep I promise.” He winked at her and smiled.

She offered a weak half smile in return and kept sipping at the water as he picked up the dinner tray put the sick bag on top and made for the door for the second time. She kept her eyes trained on her lap as he did because the whole situation disgusted her and she still felt queasy. She instead concentrated on the soothing sensation the water gave as it slid down her throat.

After finishing the cup, she leaned into the pillows with a hand over her stomach and closed her eyes. She didn’t notice the nurse return to check on her or that he placed a couple more sick bags on the bedside table, and adjusted the bed controls to lie her down. In those few moments he was absent, despite the still early hour, she had drifted into a light and fretful sleep.

Restless dreams woke her several times throughout the night and the morphine dulled her recall of any vivid detail. While they felt so real at the time, her ability to convert them to memory each time she startled awake had been inhibited. Her brain only allowing the feelings those dreams left her with. A yearning nostalgia, cautious uncertainty, airy happiness, and occasional terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dropping a major bombshell on Stella in the next chapter which explains some things better and I hope you'll all like it so stay tuned. There's also a lot more family and friend interactions as well as a return of some of the Belfast characters.


	5. Chaos in Oneself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stella's ordeal with her health is not yet over and a bombshell causes her to re-evaluate some aspects of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of long and I still couldn't include everything I wanted. I promise there will be more family and friends in the next one. I do apologize if bits of it seem kinda rushed or generally shit. My muse kinda ran off for a bit.  
> As always comments and suggestions welcome.

_“One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star” – Nietzsche._

* * *

In the morning Stella was moved from ICU and into a post-surgical ward. Dr Brinley assured her she had recovered enough to no longer need to be under the supervision of intensive care, and a new doctor would be seeing her to discuss some blood results and take over her care. Her breathing had stabilised and there were no more issues with her wounds which nurse Jason had cleaned and redressed not long after she woke up. In her new room a tray containing two dry pieces of toast with some butter and a steaming cup of tea sat on the table near her bed which she eyed cautiously. She was hungry, really hungry, and she had not had anything solid to eat in days. Her last half decent meal was before the flight from Belfast to London the night where all this began. She knew she had to eat, but a jumpy nervousness tangled itself within her at the prospect of consuming anything in case the nausea returned, and she was sick again. She instead elected for the cup of hot tea hoping it would keep her stomach settled and perhaps brighten her mood. From the first sip its heat was comforting and familiar as it radiated through her and warmed her from the inside out giving her life. For the first time in days she felt a flicker of contentment and peace. Deciding she would rather chance it than starve she braved the toast and took a bite. It was rough against her tender throat with every mouthful but afterwards her body hummed with a satiated sensation of comfort.

She reveled in the soothing daze until her ears perked up when she heard the familiar sound of stilettos tapping on the hospital floor entering her room. A slim young woman who was elegantly dressed walked in holding some paperwork within her hand, her hospital ID pinned to her designer blouse. She had long straight copper hair and a friendly youthful face.

“You’re not from the ward.” Stella said recognising the patent leather pumps as the source of what piqued her attention.

“No.” The woman smiled slightly and furrowed her brow. Puzzled her patient could deduce that so quickly before she even said anything.

“I can tell by your shoes.” Stella let a small smirk grace her features. “Doctors who spend time walking wards on their feet all day don’t wear Prada.” She made a point of glancing down at them and smiled wryly. The doctor’s face lit up in acknowledgment that she had correctly identified them.

“You’re right, I’m Dr Caitlin McKay. My office is in the next wing over in obstetrics and gynaecology. How are you feeling?” She asked introducing herself cheerfully.

“Rotten.” Stella answered truthfully as she readjusted her position in bed, it was now her turn to be confused. Her mind was still somewhat slow, and she struggled to process any possible need for the presence of a doctor with that particular specialty to be visiting her. Dr McKay however continued on without giving her a chance to catch up.

“When you were brought into A&E the other day, they ran a routine blood test and called me in to discuss the results with you.” She began cautiously, her tone professional. “Were you aware that you’re pregnant?” she asked openly before pausing to read the reaction.

“What?” Stella’s confusion amplified, and she yearned for a coffee to blow away the cobwebs in her mind and process the magnitude of that question.

“The blood tests showed that you’re pregnant Stella.” Dr McKay repeated speaking softer and slower carrying more weight on her voice.

A crushing wave of realization washed over her as the intensity of that information sunk in and she was completely carried away by it momentarily. She averted her eyes staring seamlessly into space for a while. Fear, confusion and panic fought for her attention as her mind lost track of the surface and she contemplated the implications that would have on her life. The professional demands of her career which she loved took up almost the entirety of her time. Then there was her occasional psychological unrest associated with the intensity of her work, and her promiscuous, often risky, social life to consider. Although sometimes lonely, she was content with the way her life was and couldn’t ever imagine bringing children into it.

“I can’t raise a child.” She solemnly whispered barely audible more to herself than to the doctor. A single tear escaped her eye and fell down her cheek which she brushed away with her hand as quickly as it came. She was beginning to calculate in her mind how and when such an event could have occurred. She was always so careful.

“Well you don’t need to make any decisions today.” Dr McKay replied sympathetically and grasped her hand reassuringly. “I’ve asked the lab to add on a quantitative test to see how far along you are, and I’d like to do an ultrasound and an internal exam soon. Just to check that everything is fine given your recent fall.”

Stella gave a reluctant nod as an indication she understood. She was still gathering her thoughts and had not planned or prepared herself to be poked, prodded, and examined so invasively today. Then again, she hadn’t planned to fall down the stairs and end up in hospital. It was what it was. As mortifying as the situation felt to her, she couldn’t change it. Her life it seemed had reached a point where it was now totally and utterly out of the grasp of her control. The new uncertainty was tying knots in her stomach and she felt giddy coming to terms with it all.

“When I get your results back this afternoon, I’ll be back in to see you with the ultrasound.” She squeezed Stella’s hand sympathetically which pulled her out of the daze and back to reality. She eyed the beautiful young doctor and took in the compassion written all over her face. It was comforting and she felt briefly safe in this moment with her despite it all.

“I’ll let the nurse know when I’m coming so they can help you get prepared for the procedures. Do you have any questions? Anything you want to know?” she asked gently. Pointedly noting Stella’s silence. 

Stella shook her head timidly she was approaching an information overload and felt if she were to discuss this further it would be too much.

“Okay, well I will see you later then.” Dr McKay finished with a friendly smile.

Stella nodded in return and watched her leave, listening to the clattering sound of those Prada heels fading step by step down the hall outside her room. She let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding and sighed leaning back into the pillows. The bruising on the back of her pelvis made sitting in bed uncomfortable at certain angles and she shuffled her position only to find that no matter how she re-adjusted herself, at least one of her many bruises from the stairwell was under pressure and sore. The frustration with herself and her predicament flared again, and she was reaching a point where she wanted to break something or cut something, but enough of her was already broken and stitched. The troublesome nausea which had taken up residence within her recently now made perfect sense. As did her amplified emotional state which she seemed to have wrestled with a lot more. The last few days she felt like she would burst into tears at any given time and keeping that at bay was such a fight. It irked her how weak she had become in the time since leaving for Belfast. The news of her pregnancy at least gave a logical explanation for that turmoil, yet it didn’t offer any relief from it. She thought back to all the incidences throughout the Spector case where she felt long out of her depth and wondered how differently she would’ve coped with it all if she wasn’t pregnant and hormonal. She fought so hard to keep a rational mind and to handle each development of the case with a calculating thought process. How much of those abilities were tainted by this? How much of her job would now be affected by her inability to reign in the emotional turbulence now amplified by her hormones? This had already seriously affected her position and reputation at Scotland Yard. That fateful stupid night and the accompanying nausea, now attributable to morning sickness, contributed directly to her collapse in the stairwell. It was a rather spectacular way to announce her return from Belfast if ever there was one. Even after her recovery it will certainly draw all eyes in her direction when, or if, she goes back to the office. 

A knock at the door yanked her starkly back to the present like she had been pulled up from underwater.

“How are you feeling?” Gerrard asked gently as he poked his head in the door. Her face lit up with recognition when she saw him.

“How do I look?” she countered quietly, getting annoyed with being asked the same question by everyone, like they expected her answer to be ‘rainbows and sunshine’.

“Like a beautiful hell.” he chuckled pulling a chair over as he entered her room.

“That would be an accurate assessment.” She smirked in return. “It’s good to see you.” She sighed smiling genuinely as he moved towards her.

He leant in kissed her cheek and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. His grey stubble was rough against her skin. It was only a few shades darker than the shock of messy white hair he sported. In his mid-sixties he was nearing retirement age but his sharp eyes and the lean fit physique he maintained suggested otherwise.

“I saw Caitlin in the hall and thought she might’ve been in to see you by now.” he said cheerfully as he sat on the chair near her.

“Mmm.” She hummed.

“Still processing I take it.” He chuckled.

She eyed him surreptitiously, wondering if he was referring to the news that she was pregnant or not.

“How’s the nausea?” He asked now regarding her with a more caring expression.

“Comes and goes.” She whispered weakly and fidgeted with her covers.

“Morning sickness can be like that. You’ll find a way to manage.” He reassured her.

**_He knows_ **

Her reaction, a mixture of shock and embarrassment, must’ve been written all over her features despite her efforts to mask it because he smirked and sighed. 

“I happened to glance at your chart before allowing them to do surgery.” He grinned with a hint of sarcasm and a mischievous sparkle in his eye. She knew he would’ve scanned through her records with a fine-toothed comb before letting anyone touch her. It was for that very reason she trusted him rather than any other family member to be her medical proxy. 

“Why wasn’t I told sooner?” She asked irritated the information about her pregnancy was kept from her for at least a day or so.

“In case you weren’t already aware, I told Dr Brinley not to inform you of the blood results until he was sure you were recovering. I did not want you having a panic attack with your lungs in the state they were.” He explained reassuringly.

She looked away slightly hurt and bit her lip fighting back tears again, she hated it when people withheld information. It was a particular type of betrayal which didn’t sit well with her. She was however grateful he had her best interests at heart. She had learned throughout her career how to maintain a cool level head when under pressure but something told her she might not have been able to in the state she was. There was an internal conflict battling within and she knew that if she was presented with this when she first came off the ventilator it, in all likelihood, would’ve been too much.

“What happened at work? You were severely dehydrated when they brought you in and they said you fell down the stairs.” He asked prying her for more information other than what was told to him on her admission.

“I fell down the stairs.” She replied simply, neglecting to explain the situation in its entirety. She shuffled her position slightly and various bruises twinged causing her to grimace slightly.

He raised an eyebrow at her knowingly with a sceptical look. He wasn’t buying it and she should’ve known not to inveigle the situation. She let out a sigh through her nose, gritted her teeth and prepared herself to divulge more of the truth.

“I was sick, and I fainted.” She relinquished hastily. “I thought it was the hangover.” She whispered softly, embarrassed by her actions.

“How much did you drink?” He asked his features now expressing concern.

“I don’t remember.” She said, shifting uncomfortably and nervously averting her eyes. “Enough that I don’t remember falling asleep on the bathroom floor.” She added guiltily. She didn’t want to think about the impact the last month of casual wine and whiskey in Northern Ireland could’ve had on the pregnancy, not to mention the copious amount she drank the other night. She looked down towards her still flat stomach and fought the urge to place a hand over it comfortingly.

“Oh Stella” he sighed his concern shifting to sympathy with his gentle eyes studying her intently.

At that moment they were interrupted by the arrival of lunch. A young blonde nurse entered with a BLT on a tray along with an apple and another cup of tea. She placed it on the bedside table smiling as the discussion came to a halt.

“I had better leave you to your lunch.” He said softly. “I have patients to see this afternoon.”

She nodded sadly, hoping she could see him again sometime before she was discharged.

“You’re in good hands with Caitlin McKay, I asked her myself if she would take over your prenatal care. She’s one of the best.” He said as he got up from the chair and shifted it aside.

“I appreciate it.” she said gratefully as gratitude for his caring actions flooded through her. “Bye Gerry.” She sighed.

He gave her another kiss on the cheek before departing and she felt sad his visit had to be so fleeting. 

Later that afternoon when the nurse returned to prepare for Dr McKay, Stella was crouched on the bathroom floor, her elbow resting on the toilet bowl supporting her forehead with her palm. She had been hovering there for at least five minutes waiting for the morning sickness to rob her of her lunch. She was breathing heavily, closing her eyes now and again so she wasn’t staring directly into the white porcelain. Waves of nausea came and went, and she felt like rubbish but none of them were strong enough to overcome her body’s grasp on the nutrition she needed so badly. She heard the nurse wheel in, what was presumably the ultrasound machine into her room, before knocking at the bathroom door.

“Stella? Dr McKay is on her way.” The cheery blonde’s voice was muffled through the door.

“Give me a minute.” She breathed weakly, pulling herself together. She unfolded herself from the ground and gripped onto the pole with her IV hanging above. Her knuckles went white as she used it to pull herself up. She was so much weaker than she expected, and it took all her effort leaning on her good arm to get up. The muscles in her left chest normally honed by her regular swimming training were cut through and disrupted to repair her rib. It would be a significant amount of time before they would heal enough for her to utilise her left arm completely. She emerged from the bathroom still feeling nauseous but it was beginning to subside a little. She was helped back onto the bed and prepared for the procedure by the same young blonde nurse who brought her lunch earlier. She was a peppy young thing in her early twenties with a vibrant positivity which graded on Stella’s low mood. She was apparently still fairly new and filled to the brim with a hope which hadn’t yet been worn down by years of experiencing the many nefarious aspects of the nursing profession. Stella wondered if she would still be so perky if she puked on her. 

By the time Dr McKay’s tell-tale stilettos were heard at the door Stella was lying ready in a very compromising position. The nausea had subsided a little and she steeled herself over with a stone-cold blank demeanour. It was easier to mask her embarrassment and shame by pretending she had none. She knew during the exam Dr McKay would see the cuts still healing on her upper thighs and she felt exposed in a way not related to the invasive nature of the procedure. The evidence of self-harm was a stark reminder of how unequipped she felt about having a child. She shuddered to think what kind of role model she would be if she couldn’t even keep her own mind in check and did not want to inflict any of that on a child. She knew all too well the damage it could cause.

She managed to keep it together throughout Dr McKay’s exam. It was during the internal ultrasound that she had to turn away from the monitor as tears welled in her eyes. The characteristic sound of a tiny rapid heartbeat was the only noise in the room, the source being the jelly-bean sized blob within her currently projected on the grainy screen. She blinked and sniffed to conceal her tears.

“You’re about 7 weeks along.” Dr McKay said pulling Stella from her mind. “I’m taking some measurements to ensure that’s accurate, but we should probably talk about calculating the conception and due dates.” She added, her eyes concentrated intently on the screen as she manipulated the image. 

Stella remained quiet, still intently avoiding any acceptance of the situation. She wanted this whole ordeal to be over so she could get home, turn her thoughts to work and re-establish some routine back into her life. She did not want to sit here with a beautiful redhead and discuss the multiple one night stands she had before Belfast, any of which could’ve impregnated her. 

Dr McKay removed the ultrasound wand and placed it back into the holder on the machine.

“It’s a lot to take in I know.” She said sympathetically. Her features forming a gentle caring expression as she indicated to Stella that the invasion was over and she could get comfortable again.

“Do you want children?” Stella asked composing herself pulling her gown back down over her legs and settling back in bed. She spotted the engagement and wedding band on the young doctors left hand and could almost predict her answer before she gave it.

“Someday.” Dr McKay replied wistfully as she wheeled the machine over towards the door.

“A lot of women say that.” Stella replied smiling slightly.

“What would you have said before this?” Dr McKay asked cocking her head coyly, a curiosity flashing over her features.

“I would’ve said no.” Stella began thinking back to how little she thought about having kids throughout her life. “If I had a partner, someone to care for them while I went to work it would be something to consider, but otherwise no.” She finished.

“Like a house husband?” Dr McKay queried playfully, a smirk erupting on her face.

“Or a wife” Stella mused looking down knowing the repercussions of that phrase would always elicit an uncomfortable response in whoever she was talking to. People didn’t know how to act when presented with the idea of two women together like any straight couple. Dr McKay simply smiled genuinely. Apparently she wasn’t perplexed by the concept at all which was refreshing and enhanced her respect for the doctor.

“Well whether you had intentions of becoming a mother or not before, you are right now.” Dr McKay’s tone turned serious yet still carried a gentle airiness as she redirected the conversation back to the topic at hand. “If you wish to carry through with it to term I can arrange a plan of care or, I can support you through any other choice you make. You’re still fairly early on so you have a few weeks to decide and if you wish to discuss any of the risks I am more than happy to.” She added. Her voice friendly, open and professional as she packed up her things.

Stella nodded seriously as she slowly accepted her fate. Not being the maternal type, she never really considered having children at all. She enjoyed her job too much to sacrifice parts of it for the demands of motherhood. The prospect of having a snotty nosed screaming child in her house smearing food on the furniture and puking on the carpet never carried an appeal for her. Not to mention the restrictions it would place on traveling for work and late nights at the office. She didn't want her life to change but she also wasn’t ready to immediately part with the baby growing in her either. Something unexplainable tugged at her heart and begged her to keep it.

“Do you have any questions? Anything you want to know?” Dr McKay asked for the second time today as she stood near the end of the bed and made a notation on the chart there.

“No.” Stella breathed shaking her head confidently hoping to postpone any more serious discussion until she had the chance to think further. 

“I’ll be in touch to arrange a follow up then.” Dr McKay said pointedly before she left, her Prada heels echoing down the hall outside the room.

Pushing aside the shock of the most recent discovery Stella fetched her laptop, and phone from her stylish designer handbag so she could reconnect with reality. If she was going to be stuck in hospital she could at least catch up with her emails and make some calls in order to keep up to date with the cases currently floating around among the staff in her office.

The morning sickness had other plans for her and reared its ugly head again an hour or so later, so she awkwardly scrambled out of bed and into the bathroom. Pain flared in various parts of her body as she did, a stark reminder of how long a recovery she still had ahead of her. After losing almost a third of her lunch she sighed, flushed, and took a shaky drink of water while cupping her hand under the tap rinsing her mouth. Her reflection in the mirror above was washed out and her skin carried a greasy pallor. The bruises Spector gave her on her forehead and cheek however were beginning to subside leaving a yellowish tinge where they were once a deep purple. She pulled her hospital gown aside and peeled back the dressing a little in hopes of examining the wounds in her chest. The skin went taut and pulled painfully against her sutures as she twisted towards the mirror wincing. Two more scars to add to her repertoire from the years on the force. She then turned to the side and placed a hand on her belly smoothing the hospital gown flat against her skin in hopes of imagining the bump which will eventually appear there, but the mirror above the sink didn’t reach as low as her pelvis. She instead looked down and splayed her fingers out on her lower abdomen protectively.

She thought back to the dream she had while under anaesthesia of her father rubbing comforting circles on her belly. _“Little star… someone needs you.”_ His voice echoed in her head once again.

A dancing little star indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like the direction the story is going so far. I'm loving all your comments and they keep me inspired to keep going.  
> I'm very sorry but I cant update for a while due to my imminent university final exams and the need to study. I have some of the next few chapters written but they need some serious editing. When I can get to it though there will hopefully be more regular updates. xx


	6. Darkness Relenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stella begins her recovery at home and wrestles with morning sickness while coming to terms with being restricted by her injuries. Tensions flare within herself and her family which also need answering to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled BIG TIME with this chapter and probably should've deleted half of it but I'm low-key enjoying exploring Stella's relationships so it ended up staying. If you're here for the angst you'll hopefully enjoy it. If not, there's a little more family I want to include and some more detective stuff coming up so I hope you stick with it anyway.  
> If its shit I'm sorry. I tried.

A few days after her release from hospital Stella awoke early one morning at home and was immediately sick. It was early and the sickening sensation was so strong it drew her reluctantly from slumber tugging at her consciousness the way an alarm clock does, requiring immediate attention. Sleepily she tossed off the covers and swiftly made for the bathroom. Grasping the cold porcelain, the stitches in the surgical wounds on her side twinged as her abdominal muscles contracted and her fractures throbbed. She wished this would end. She was tired of being ill, and weak, and sore, but knew that the morning sickness was just the beginning. She had at least another few weeks’ of this. Minimum.

This was the first time she’d been physically sick since the hospital. Over the last few days, she felt some mild nausea come and go, sometimes it lingered despite her attempts to settle it with tea or a snack, but it wasn’t enough to significantly disrupt her rest. For once she had listened to her body. She kept mostly to her bed or the couch and drifted in and out of sleep, reading occasionally and taking care of herself. She slowly felt her strength return, but as it did a dull boredom crept in. She considered calling her mother, or even her cousin Anna in Wales, but didn’t know what to say. Stella never spoke to her mother, but now aware she was nurturing a growing life within her she felt drawn to the maternal side of her family. They weren’t close and she only knew Anna well enough for Christmas cards and small-talk at family gatherings. Their mothers were sisters, and although she was around ten years younger than Stella, with three brats in tow. She was the only person remotely close to her who she could possibly talk to about having a baby. They hadn’t spent time together since they were teenagers, but she wasn’t ready to confront her mother with this just yet. It had been months since they had last spoken, and it felt wrong to pick up the phone and ask for help now. After sipping at some water and taking her pain killers she crawled back into the soft comfort of her bed. With nothing to do but feel rotten and wallow in how empty her life was.

A few hours later she awoke again and quelled the lingering nausea with a hearty lunch. She felt revitalised and somewhat healthy for the first time since Belfast. The bruises all over her body were healing, and she was breathing easier. She scanned through some of the case notes from the original email Chris sent her before all this began but she knew the information was well out of date. The kid had been found so there really was no need for her to look into it. In the time which had passed the other murders were now likely to be focused on more if they haven’t already been transitioned over to another unit. She scribbled some notes and thoughts on some paper and sent an email requesting further details. She knew she had good instincts when it came to unpacking the elements of a crime and breaking into the suspects mind. Chris wouldn’t originally have offered her the deputy position if he didn’t value her input. She hoped that the team handling it would allow her to be included, albeit remotely, just to give herself something to do. 

She found herself pacing the length of the living room in an attempt to instill a logical thought process to breakdown the details which didn’t quite add up regarding the most recent missing kid who had been found. Instead her thoughts were continually infiltrated by her distance from the taskforce and her current predicament. Her injuries, the leave required, and what it would mean for her to work while pregnant. She fiddled with her phone in her hands while she considered calling her mother for the better part of at least half an hour. She knew there was a narrow window in which she could call due to the time difference between London and New York. It was getting late over there and knew her mother would scald her for calling too late in the evening. She missed swimming, and she missed sex. She missed being able to burn off her frustrations and clear her head so she could think straight. Think clearly. Instead she was housebound and restricted by her own body. She felt like a caged lion. Irritated and trapped. She argued with herself over making the phone call. Eventually she dialed the number and held the phone to her ear. After ringing a few times, the receiver clicked on the other end as it was answered.

“Professor Ellen Gibson.” Her mother’s sharp professional voice sang into her ear.

“Mum its me…. Stella.” She stammered timidly. Her mother was perhaps the only person in the world with the power to make her feel small.

“Yes, I know who you are. What do you want?” Her sharp tone not softening in the slightest.

“I’m just phoning to say hello… Perhaps talk.” Every single one of her logical brain cells was now screaming at her that this was not a good idea.

“Well what is it you wish to talk about?” Her mother queried haughtily.

“Nothing… I don’t know.” She sighed realizing she should never have called, and she resumed pacing back and forth across the living room. There was an awkward silence where she considered just hanging up before her mother filled it with a question.

“How is work these days?” Her mother inquired, likely an attempt to create conversation more than anything else.

A darkness overshadowed Stella’s voice when she answered. “I don’t want to talk about work right now.” She replied in a hushed tone. It was a touchy topic, and one she didn’t want to face right now.

“Why? What happened? Has it got something to do with you ending up in hospital?” She asked rather indignantly.

Anger flared up within Stella like a forest fire. Her own mother was aware she was recently in hospital and yet didn’t care enough to call and check in on her. “How do you know about that?” She asked icily, her voice dangerously quiet.

“Gerrard called me. He said there was some kind of incident.” Her mother replied offhandedly.

Stella made a mental note to confront him about sharing around information relating to her personal issues among the family. She was fuming and couldn’t immediately think of an any coherent intelligent response. Her mother however ploughed on without a second thought.

“Honestly Stella, I will never understand why you decided to be a police officer in the first place. Rubbing shoulders with the filth of society like that every day.” Her mother’s voice already holding disdain.

“Stop.” Stella demanded boldly, her soft voice emanating a distinguishable displeasure without raising a decibel. “I’m not an officer anymore, I’m a Detective Superintendent. I run a team of personnel who work to solve complex crimes. I spend less time with the criminals themselves than you did as a solicitor.” She spilled ruthlessly defending herself and her profession.

“Yes well, that’s why I got into academia.” Her mother’s snobbish reply held an air of superiority.

“I thought it was because of the affair.” She countered caustically, knowing exactly which of her mother’s sore points to poke.

“Don’t you dare Stella.” She spat acidly yielding to her bait.

Stella sighed. Her patience for dealing with her mother had reached the end of its tether. She didn’t call her for this. She was reminded again of why she never made an effort to keep in touch. 

“Fine.” She uttered icily now ready to hang up at any moment.

“So are you going to tell me why you were in hospital? Or will I have to ask Gerry.” Her mother questioned insolently.

“He won’t tell you. There was an issue with a case I was working, and I was injured in a car accident.” She skipped over the details involving her screw up on the Spector case and, blatantly lied to cover the incident with her hangover and the stairs.

“What do you mean ‘ _an issue’_? her mother asked disdainfully. “You didn’t let them walk did you?”

“No.” she sighed not knowing why she was telling her mother all this. “He attacked me, and then killed himself.” She relinquished reluctantly.

“Darling why do you keep doing this? This is not healthy for you. You could’ve done anything else. You could’ve easily followed in your father’s footsteps and become a surgeon, or even joined me at the law firm.” Her mother’s tone agitated and patronizing.

“Can you stop being difficult just for once?” Stella snapped completely exasperated. “I didn’t call you to fight.” She said, her icy tone holding a unique sharpness.

“Then why did you call?” She asked dubiously.

“There was something I wanted to discuss but it appears now that I shouldn’t.” She said. Although she felt like she should tell her mother about the baby she also distrusted her with something so personal for fear she would be criticized in some way. She was still so early on and any number of things could happen.

“Oh for heavens’ sake Stella, stop being vague and spit it out!” There was an angry frustration now eking through the phone.

“I’m pregnant.” She said abruptly. She had to force the words out of her lips like drawing blood from a stone but if her mother was going to be difficult she would lay it straight out with no warning, and let her handle it in whatever way she wanted. She stopped in her tracks halting in the middle of the room standing dead still almost not breathing. There was a long moment of baited silence on the line before her mother finally answered, perhaps in shock.

“It’s about time… I was beginning to wonder if you were still able to, you’re not getting any younger, and I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone. Who’s the father?” She rambled contemptuously.

“I don’t know.” Stella replied honestly, the usual frostiness returning to her tone.

“You mean to say you’ve been going about it like a common slut and got knocked up?” Her mother shrieked in reply, her tone rapidly turning hysterical through the phone.

Her mother’s words struck hard like a slap to the face and rubbed salt in her many stitched wounds. “No… That’s not …” She broke off and pinched the bridge of her nose bowing her head fighting back tears. Angrily she pressed the hang-up button and tossed her phone into the couch before collapsing into a cushion and allowing herself a momentary sob. She knew that wasn’t going to be a pleasant or easy conversation, but she didn’t think it would be that bad. Instead of offering her suggestions or advice, or even an inkling that she cared, her mother acted exactly as Stella expected her to. Belligerent, condescending and argumentative. She brushed at the tears as she regained control and forced her feelings aside. She refused to cry any more. She had been in a constant tempest of emotion since Belfast and she hated feeling like she wasn’t in command of her own life anymore. She was determined to reign it in and instill some sense of normalcy or routine. She needed something, anything, to provide some stability for her but a deep internal ache had settled in her chest at her mothers cold response.

She resumed pacing the length of the living room hairband snapping at her wrist every few moments. The phone conversation left her antsy and irritated. There was an internal tension within her which she just couldn’t mitigate no matter what she tried to distract herself with and the blade in her bathroom cabinet was looking real friendly again. She felt like crawling out of her skin and yearned for the floating freedom of a refreshing swim. The injuries were restricting her more than she could handle, and the suffocating walls of her house were becoming a prison. It had only been a couple of days, but she needed fresh air. Freedom.

Snap.

Her forearm was red and raw from the band she continually flicked against it in an attempt to assuage the turbulence within. Her mother’s words infiltrated her psyche more than she intended to let them. The phrase ‘ _rubbing shoulders with the filth of society_ ’ repeated itself in her head, as did ‘ _going about like a common slut’_. Over the years she trained herself not to put any validity into the critical, often harsh and borderline abusive things that were hurled her direction. This time hit harder than the rest, perhaps because she felt poorly and alone craving someone to care for her while she was sick and injured. Perhaps it was the pregnancy toying with her hormones and skewing her emotions. Either way it felt more personal than any other fight she had with her mother.

_Did she not want a grandchild? Was she never going to be happy or proud for her? Why wouldn’t she ever show it?_

Snap.

An hour later though she found herself kneeling on the bathroom floor for the second time that day throwing up, again. It was shaping up to be a horrid day. She couldn’t tell if it was the morning sickness, or the emotional rollercoaster it had been dealing with her mother. The two were likely related though -hormones. She felt like she no longer had any command over her body or her emotions. She was usually so level-headed. She wanted her life back and it made her thoughts turn to abortion. Something she had contemplated fruitlessly since discovering her pregnancy, and had not yet made up her mind. If she was going to maintain a modicum of sanity, she needed a distraction. Something to keep her busy.

After pulling herself together, she ferreted around in the couch cushions to retrieve her phone, ignoring the two missed called from her mother which sat on the screen. She called her boss and asked if there were any cases she could assist with via video conference.

“Gibson, I’m sorry. I can’t let you participate in any active investigations until your injuries are assessed by a company doctor. Just focus on recovering for now, and we can talk about the caseload when you’re allowed back to work.”

“I understand.” She replied coldly before hanging up. She was utterly deflated unable to find a loophole in the situation. Her usual vehemently feisty mind had no way of challenging the protocol set in place to ensure her wellbeing. 

She sighed deciding she had to get out of the house before she threw her phone at the wall. She slipped on a pair of runners and some workout clothes with a light jacket. Instead of walking back and forth across her living room, she would take a walk through the park to get some fresh air and hopefully experience some of the late springtime flowers.

The afternoon sun was warm on her face but in the shadows of the buildings the air was cool. She started slowly ambling along taking in the world. It was invigorating seeing the normalcy of London’s bustling life. She passed a house down the street of hers with three young children playing in the front garden and her heart fluttered. Along a little further was a blossoming rose garden which she stopped at to inhale the sweet flavours. Nearing the park, she saw tourists taking photos, lovers holding hands, teenagers gossiping at a bus stop, and more children playing. Experiencing the beauty of life lit a flame within her and without thinking she burst into a jog.

She made it only a couple of hundred yards before her systemic need for oxygen overtook what her ravaged lungs were able to provide, and things went pear shaped very quickly. She came to an immediate halt as her breaths grew deeper and she was swamped by dizziness. When her chest expanded with each deep breath it strained against the plating in her broken ribs causing sharp pain to erupt and throb in her side. She collapsed onto the small brick fence separating the pavement from the nearest house’s front garden, and sat bending forward with her head between her knees hoping she could stabilise the vertigo. Instead it had the opposite effect, her head swam as a surge of intense dizziness hit and threatened to rob her of consciousness. The pain in her side intensified and she lifted her hand up slipping it under her unzipped jacket to cover her chest wounds protectively. She knew she couldn’t stay here, and needed to make it home to assess the damage. She sat there only for a moment before slowly rising and making a start on stumbling home. She kept her hand on her chest the whole way and had to stop a couple more times to pause and rest each time the dizziness made her head spin. Reaching her front door still breathless she leaned heavily against the threshold as she fumbled with the keys. The pain in her chest was not subsiding but had morphed into a constant ache, and she wondered what she would see when she peeled back the dressing to check. Once inside she collapsed on the couch and lifted her hand off the wounds in her side. It came away sticky and wet with blood. She had probably damaged or torn the skin around her stitches and broken the wounds open which had bleed through the both the dressing and her white t-shirt. She placed her hand back over it cautiously to stem any further bleeding and retrieved her phone. Facing the prospect of a third visit to the emergency room for this week she hoped Gerry could help her instead.

“Hi Gerry, its me.” She breathed uncomfortably. “Can you come by? I need your help.”

“What’s the matter?” he asked immediately sensing the urgency and desperation in her voice “Are you ok?”

She sighed. “… my stitches are bleeding.” She muttered sheepishly re-examining her wounds cautiously.

“I’m on my way.” He replied softly before hanging up.

The whole episode outside did nothing to alleviate her irritable mood. So she sat there on the couch brooding, agitated, and sore, checking every now and then to see if the bleeding had stopped as she waited.

When Gerry arrived and she stood to answer the door to let him in she felt lightheaded once again. He started by jabbering away about being late for dinner as she leaned heavily in a daze against the wall while he passed the threshold and entered. She closed the door behind him silently and fell on the couch removing her hand from her chest revealing the bloodstained shirt. She felt weak, shaky, and dishevelled, and not in any mood for conversation.

“What happened?” He asked bluntly looking down at her anxiously pointedly noticing her silence.

“I haven’t looked at it yet.” She whispered not wanting to face any criticism she might receive from admitting to him exactly how it occurred. She knew it was a stupid choice to go out and couldn’t back that decision with any justification.

He knelt down with his things near her and gestured for her to lift up her t-shirt so he could peel off the dressing and examine the wounds. She glanced down and watched as he did. They were soaked with blood which had become sticky in her body’s attempt at healing the damage. The top wound where her rib had been surgically repaired was torn. Three stitches had popped where the skin was disrupted, and the wound had reopened.

“What did you do?” He asked examining the damage with frustration. “Your chance of contracting an infection just doubled.” He added cautioning her. He undid his bag, pulled out a sterile suture kit and started setting it up. 

“I had to get out of the house.” She said self-consciously still avoiding having to admit the details, and doing her best to avert her eyes so as not to look at him.

“You went for a run didn’t you.” Gerry replied accusingly gesturing towards her attire. He cleaned the blood from around her torn wound with some gauze and sterile saline. She winced quietly and offered no response, her guilty silence was enough of an answer. His touch was delicate, but her wound was tender and sore from the damage she had recently inflicted.

“Jesus Gerry that fucking hurts!!” she exclaimed screwing up her features. She suppressed a flinch and clamped her teeth together breathing heavily through the pain when he thrust the needle in and pulled the thread through her flesh to re-stitch her wound. She was holding her bloody t-shirt out of the way and gripped tight to the couch cushion with her other hand.

“Well if you keep doing reckless things like going for a run after surgery, perhaps the pain will help discourage you.” He said awkwardly without taking his eyes off the sharp implements in his hands concentrating intently on what he was doing. “What were you thinking?” he questioned as his eyes momentarily darted up to her face expectantly.

“I wasn’t.” She relinquished darkly without meeting his eyes, her shame showing through.

“Even after all these years you never cease to surprise me with the various ways you manage to self-destruct.” He retorted beginning the second stitch.

She threw him a piercing dark glare and sighed completely deflated by his words. He was right and she knew it.

“Why don’t you go to stay with someone for a while.” He suggested as he meticulously tied each stitch with the same delicate technique her father used to have. “…your cousin perhaps? She’s got kids. Maybe you could spend some time with the lil’ ‘uns as practise.”

“I barely know her.” Stella replied gritting through the pain, frustrated and irritable. “I won’t just impose myself on her life and ask her to care for me.” The prospect of spending a few days in a busy house full of loud children while she was injured, tired, and intermittently ill was not even remotely appealing. She scathed at the idea, but Gerry was unlikely to back down.

“Well you clearly need someone to supervise you.” He said finishing the last stitch by tying it off.

She felt stung by that remark, so she changed the subject and the focus of the conversation.

“Why did you call my mother? She’s teaching in New York.” Stella asked irritated, leaning down to examine her newly stitched wounds. 

“The hospital wanted to contact her when you were in ICU so I said I would handle it. I didn’t tell her much though.” He snipped the excess thread and began packing up his implements before preparing a fresh gauze dressing. “She called you?” He queried.

“No. I was foolish enough to call her.” She replied absently mulling over her own stupidity.

“What did she say?” He asked sympathetically, knowing perfectly well the state of that relationship without her having to go into detail.

“Nothing I would care to repeat.” She replied darkly not wanting to delve down that particular rabbit hole again. When Gerry finished, she sighed letting go of her bloody shirt lazily. Exhausted and hungry she bowed her head closing her eyes for a moment. Contemplating weather she wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until next week, or raid the fridge for something that would agree with her stomach.

“Why don’t you come over for dinner?” he asked noticing her fatigue and gazing at her sympathetically. “My wife cooked a roast, but the kids are all out with friends.” He added.

She looked up at him insipidly, without hiding her weariness. “I’m tired.” She replied quietly. “… and I need a shower.” She added yearning for the refreshing feeling of water running over her and hoping it would be enough to cleanse her of this horrible day. She wasn’t feeling up to attending dinner with anyone, not only due to her exhaustion, but if the nausea returned and she was going to be sick again she would rather it be here than anywhere else.

“You need some sustenance Stella.” His resolve softened and his usual caring nature showed through as he quietly climbed to his feet. “Go take a shower, I’ll wait here for you.” He gestured for her to go upstairs with a nod.

It appeared he wasn’t going to leave without her. It was from him that she learned to hone her own stubbornness with her convictions over the years, but the state which she was in right now she was no match for him. She sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her hair realising there was no way out of this. Telling herself it was an excuse to get out of the house at the very least, she glanced up at him and replied feebly.

“Fine.”

She hauled herself to her feet slowly, a miserable exhaustion had set in from deep within her bones which she ignored as she stalked from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta ask you all if you want me to send her back to Belfast to bring those characters in or if you want new cases for her at the Met in London? So far I'll probably find a way to include Belfast but she might not to stay there.  
> As always comments/suggestions welcome.  
> Let me know what you prefer.


	7. Bête Noire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stella's darkness reveals itself by catching up to her during a busy night and a quiet morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Trigger warning *  
> There's mention of child abuse/sexual assault in this chapter so those who wish to avoid it skip the parts in italics.  
> Its a deep chapter and was interesting exploring Stella's darkness in this way.   
> Musical inspiration: Universe Lullaby - NOVAA
> 
> I cried writing this.  
> Enjoy.

_“When you look into the abyss, the abyss looks into you.” - Neitzsche_

* * *

Stella rested in an armchair in the Fraser’s living room. A room she had frequently played in as a carefree child, cried in as a grief-stricken teenager, slept in drunk as a uni student, and socialised in as a confident adult. A room in which she knew she was welcome any time, yet tonight she felt uncomfortable. She was tired, shaky, and slightly nauseous. Two of those sensations she rarely experienced until recently where it seemed they had become her new norm. She would rather be curled up at home in bed than here but she didn’t have the heart to tell them.

“Here.” Gerry nudged her and handed her a glass of water. “You look pale.” He uttered softly.

“I’m fine.” She whispered, offering her customary reply no matter what she was feeling.

He raised an eyebrow sceptically. “Good. Dinner’s ready.” He muttered frankly with a wry twinkle before turning towards the dining room. 

She smirked slightly to herself. He knew she was feeling off and teased her by playing along with her refusal to admit it. He always had an uncanny way of knowing exactly how she was feeling. No matter what strategy she employed to hide it, he could read her like a book. She stood slowly and followed sipping at the water.

‘How’s the recovery going? Gerry said you were recently in hospital.” Miranda his wife remarked casually before taking a seat at the table.

The roast chicken and baked vegetables were served on three plates with a gravy boat in the centre of the table. It smelled divine and despite her mild nausea Stella’s mouth watered at the sight and smell of it.

“Its fine.” She glanced curtly at Gerry momentarily as an antagonistic gesture before sitting and continuing politely. “… A little frustrating actually, I just want to be back to normal.” She replied genially making conversation, knowing full well her life would never be able to go back to what she had previously considered ‘normal’. She now had a life that was pre-Belfast, and a life after, which she was still struggling to picture let alone come to terms with. She picked up her cutlery and began to eat with a small bite hoping the entire dinner conversation wasn’t going to be focused around her. Despite her inherent confidence she disliked being the centre of attention. Luckily Gerrard was still keeping a surreptitious eye on her, and once he noticed she had started eating he deflected the minimal conversation towards his work and various other things. The meal settled into a comfortable rhythm until Stella’s phone vibrated silently in her pocket, prompting her to excuse herself from the table and retreat into the hall to answer it. Gerry glanced at her with an uneasy concern as she rapidly departed.

“Gibson.” She answered keeping her tone quiet in the hall so as not to disturb the others.

“Ma’am its Miller. I’m sorry to bother you so late, or at all really, but I was hoping to get your opinion on something, and perhaps some advice.” The young detective rambled nervously, most likely unsure if she had stepped over a boundary by calling after hours while her boss was on sick leave. Stella didn’t mind, her job was her life and while she was working on a case, her staff knew she was essentially available at all hours if she was needed for something. Now however, she was just plain bored and wanted a puzzle to solve.

“Its fine, go ahead.” She replied gently hoping the softness of her tone would put Carly at ease.

“Its about the Kensington boy” She began seemingly still unsure. “I know he’s been found and returned, but something about it just doesn’t add up.” The detective explained. “… and I don’t know what to do with this.”

“You should go with your instincts.” She encouraged her protégé. “I am not familiar with that part of the case, but based on what I did get to examine, that aspect didn’t sit right for me either.” She felt completely calm, and in her element participating in this conversation as she considered an analytical approach to proving her theory. “Did he have any marks or abrasions? Anything to indicate some form of restraint?” She inquired curiously.

“There was some minor bruising but not much of it was paid attention to because the kids nanny owned up to taking him. Her story matched the injury pattern.” Carly replied.

“Mmm.” She mused “Check the boy over for any other marks, insignificant or otherwise, even mild ones. Any he had an explanation for, or thought were not important at the initial rescue. It could be he is still linked to the others somehow” She replied with a confidence she hadn’t felt in days. “Have Liz Davies the M.E. or one of the pathologists draw up a detailed analytical comparison of his injuries with those of the other victims. There may be some similarities that were missed.”

“Okay.” Det. Miller noted quietly. Stella’s mind was already exploring other avenues and theories.

“Did these other children have nannies or babysitters?” Stella asked delving further curiously.

“Erm… I think so? I’m not sure. They weren’t focused on because the kids were in their parents’ care when they went missing. I’ll check it out.” Miller’s tone held more confidence now Stella had given her a practical theory to test.

“Look into the type of relationship dynamic the nannies had with the kids. And any relationship, professional or not, that they had with the parents. Check everything.” She pushed her, like she usually did with all her staff, to explore the tiny details. “I have to go.” She finished professionally.

“Thank you, Ma’am. I really appreciate your assistance.” Carly gushed gratefully.

“Its fine Carly. Really, I should thank you for ensuring my things weren’t left behind the other day. It means a lot.”

“Get better soon Ma’am. We need you back.” Carly finished with before hanging up. 

Still with pieces of this case in the forefront of her mind she pocketed her phone moving to leave the hall and return quietly to dinner. Before she reached the doorway back to the dining room Gerry appeared in her path with a concerned expression having left the table to check on her.

“Stella, are you ok? If you’re not feeling well I can take you home.” He whispered in a hushed tone moving towards her and offering a gentle hand on the small of her back as support in case she needed it. It seemed he believed she had left because she was unwell.

“I’m fine. I was on the phone.” She replied confidently shaking his concern with a strength she did not embody when she entered his house earlier. “Really.” She reassured him gazing convincingly at him with a renewed flame in her naturally piercing blue eyes. She watched as he conceded, reading her body language and realising she was indeed okay.

“You had me worried.” He smiled still studying her looking for a tell as he visibly relaxed.

She passed him and re-entered the dining room. There was a distinct awkwardness in the mood of the room which irked her. They did not need to worry so much.

“I’m sorry.” She apologised returning to the table and sitting down comfortably. “I had to take a call from work. One of my staff was after advice on something.” She added as explanation for the interruption before turning her attention back to her food and taking a bite.

The rest of dinner settled into a cosy evening. The mood shifted as the light conversation did, and by the end Stella felt a unique warmth within her which she only ever experienced in their house. A nostalgic sensation reminding her of the true joy a real family is. A reminder of the safe home they opened to her and she didn’t feel in any way deserving of having such caring people in her life.

As he wheeled the car into her driveway afterwards to drop her home Gerry shattered the warm stillness which had settled on the way.

“Stella, I called Anna while you were in the shower earlier. She wants to talk to you and is more than happy for you to stay with them for a while as you recover.” He began tenderly.

Fire erupted within her at the revelation he had contacted someone she was not ready to talk to. But also for breaching her confidence by not only discussing her predicament with firstly her mother, then his wife, but also now her cousin.

“What justification do you have for informing the entire family of my private medical situation?” She snapped coldly. He had breached her confidence and if it were any other doctor it would be illegal. The compounded effect of it all annoyed her and anger simmered just below the surface as she climbed out of the car.

“For the same reason I do everything, I care…. and you could do with the help.” He sighed leaning forwards to maintain eye contact. “I didn’t go into any detail; I’ve left that for you.” He added disappointed and hurt by her instantaneous inflamed reaction.

She closed the car door without giving a response and promptly marched towards her front door without looking back. She was fuming at him for ruining her mood after a perfectly lovely evening and knew if she were to open her mouth, she would say something she would regret. As she turned her key in the lock and crossed the threshold, she heard him drive off behind her and immediately regretted her heated response. She didn’t even thank him for dinner. She closed the door and leaned her back against it, tilting her head so it rested against the hard wood and closed her eyes. The crushing weight of exhaustion was descending quickly as the day caught up with her and her hormone fuelled emotions ran rampant through her mind. She wanted off this rollercoaster and knew one sure fire way to do so. Abortion. She never wanted or planned for this and thought herself weak for allowing herself to get so attached. It wasn’t a child yet, it was a problem; one she needed to deal with pronto. She should just take the same advice she would give any women in her position and end it. The conviction she had for that option was the strongest it had ever been, and for her right now it was the most logical choice however, she wasn’t going to make any hasty decisions while she was a drained emotional mess.

She tossed her keys onto the hall table and headed wearily for the stairs. The clocks hands had barely passed nine and it was still early in the evening by her standards, but she was dead tired on her feet. She kicked off her shoes, prepared herself for bed and as soon as her head hit the pillow she fell immediately into a deep slumber. 

* * *

_The empty corridor she was running down in a state of sheer panic, was lit with industrial fluorescence and looked not dissimilar to those within the catacombs of various policing headquarters across the UK. She ran through it past closed doors and around corners that lead nowhere frustrated she couldn’t escape. She didn’t know why she was here only that she was being chased by someone dangerous. Feeling the fear percolate through her, she had to get away fast, but paused briefly to try and open several doors along the way. All of them were locked. She saw the shadowy figure of her mother on her tail, out the corner of her eyes as she turned a corner. Her instinct was screaming at her to run and to run as fast as she could. She heard her mother’s voice call her name. She flinched but she didn’t slow. It sounded close like she was right on her heels and spiked a flighty rise in adrenaline allowing her to quicken her pace. Her mother was gaining on her and with each turn she made, it seemed like she was lost in a maze of endless corridors and locked doors. She continued running turning corners and checking doors finding only dead ends and locks, until finally a door opened for her. The room was dark inside, but she slipped in and closed the door behind her clicking the lock and listening against it for the sound of her mother passing. Unexpectedly the light in the room suddenly flicked on behind her and she turned fearfully to see her mother there with fire in her eyes moving towards her. Stella fruitlessly fumbled with the lock to try to escape but her panic made her hands unresponsive._

_“You dirty slut!” her mother shrieked._

* * *

She awoke with a start from the vivid dream like she always did. She felt shaky and breathless, as though she had really been there running through the empty halls. She rolled over in bed and reached to turn on the lamp before lifting her new dream diary off the bedside table. It was just after 3am and she winced as she pushed herself up against the headboard, her tender chest wounds protesting the move. She ran her fingers through her hair and prepared to scribe her latest entry. Her loose cursive spelled out the scene she had just risen from as her mind hinted at a gentle analysis. She should never have called her mother, that was blatantly obvious. It was a form of self-harm in and of itself subjecting herself to the toxicity of that relationship, and now the repercussions of it were showing through. She finished writing and allowed her mind to mull it over a little longer before she flipped the journal closed and placed it back. She climbed out of bed to use the restroom and took a long drink at the sink before cooling her forehead with a splash. It took her ages to fall back to sleep after she climbed into bed and she refused to look at the clock to track how much time was passing. She eventually slipped into a restless slumber ghosted by hazy shapes and shadowy figures until her father appeared. Realistic as ever.

* * *

_“My little star.” He whispered in her ear._

_She was lying in her bed as a very young girl and he was comforting her. His soft hand rubbing her belly tenderly like he used to do when she was this young and afraid. She felt the gentle friction of his hand as the warmth calmed her and she lay there studying his features._

_“Close your eyes Stella. Try to go back to sleep.” His voice purred as he continued rubbing smooth slow circles on the soft cotton of her nightdress._

_She closed her lids and relaxed focusing on his presence with her other senses. She listened to his breathing as he quietly inhaled and exhaled at a different pace to her own. She smelt his aftershave and the faint tinge of hospital grade disinfectant. She felt herself drifting off as his hand continued to move in a soothing manner, until it gravitated. His soft touch moved down in the same rhythmic motion until he was touching her in a way no adult should ever touch a child. Her eyes flew open but instead of seeing her father’s familiar form sitting with her it was that of Spector. Immediately noticing she was awake his hands flew to her throat and clamped down tight. Panicked and suddenly aware she was no longer a child she struggled against him as the pain pressed in on her windpipe. Still lying down practically defenceless, she fought with his hands digging her nails in and clawing at his arms. Instinctively she then reached for her gun hidden in its concealed underarm holster. Without hesitation she pressed the barrel into his chest and fired. As the shot rang out, he instantly released her and the tightness around her throat eased. She gazed up as he fell away only to see her own father vanishing into the black void. A mixture of surprise and pain in his acid blue eyes. Eyes just like hers._

* * *

She awoke with a start in a state of sheer blind terror, breathless, sweaty and tangled in bed sheets. Her heart was racing, and she was burning up with a searing feverish heat from the restriction of the covers. She wriggled awkwardly and pulled at the bedding to free herself, but her hands shook violently, and she couldn’t focus through the blind fear. Finally throwing the sheets aside she lay there shaking, her rapid heart rate pounding in her throat at a cadence too fast to count as bolts of pain struck through her injured chest and she choked down restrictive gasping breaths. An overbearing sense of doom kept her pinned to the bed paralysed by fright as her stomach churned and she felt sick, but this wasn’t morning sickness.

It was a panic attack.

 _"Breathe”_ a comforting whisper reached out from depths of her memory. “ _You’re okay Stella just breathe.”_

She focused on that and that alone, but minutes passed before she began to feel the attack subside. She swung her legs out of the bed, placed her feet firmly on the floor and sat up with her elbows on her knees and head in her hands. A light-headedness hit her that she wasn’t expecting, so she remained in place still focusing on each breath as she intently drew in and exhaled, fighting to hold onto reality. 

She needed to swim. The weightless sensation she got while in the water was what successfully starved off the attacks throughout the years. Whenever she felt stressed or anxious, she would swim, and she felt free. It was that freedom that gave her peace. It taught her body and mind to relax so she could think clearly and focus on the situation at hand, calmly and objectively. As she gained control of her breathing, her heart rate began to slow, and the fear started to subside. She remained in place intently spacing her breathing for a few more minutes until she felt like her body had calmed to a manageable level. She was still feverishly hot and nauseous, so on weak unsteady legs she moved to the bathroom to take a drink. She turned on the cold tap in the shower and stripped off her damp sweaty night clothes before stepping under the frigid water. She stood there letting it calm her until she was trembling from cold exhaustion instead of hot panic.

The dawn light pressed in on the apartment through windows and around curtains adding a grey softness to the darkness as she sat shaking on her bed afterwards, naked and freezing. She knew what was coming, and therefore how to look after herself, but mustering up the physical and mental strength was a fight in itself. In the past, attacks like these left her in a lethargic daze sometimes to the point of incapacitation. She would be weak, and bone cold for hours to come. It took every ounce of strength she had in her just to gradually pull on some fresh loose and comfortable clothes. She needed to rest, and was thankful she did not have any plans or commitments until her follow up appointment with Dr McKay later in the afternoon. The cold shower did not ease the nausea which was now hovering at a level which was manageable but still enough to put her off eating. Morning sickness or not, she needed to make sure she kept up her fluids and supplied her body with sustenance while she rested. It was still early so she intended to lie down and perhaps sleep if her body would allow it but as she glanced at the messy bed, a mass of twisted sheets and covers, the thought of reoccupying that space repulsed her. She decided to make her way downstairs instead. Her balance was off, so she relied heavily on the walls and handrails as she descended before moving languidly into the kitchen. She filled a glass with water and took a long drink before refilling it and wandering into the living room. She pulled a heavy wool blanket from the headrest on the couch and placed her glass on the coffee table. She lay down across the couch cushions and spread the blanket over herself before resting her head on the arm rest. She snuggled in until she felt comfortable on her side and allowed her body to plummet into the blank somnolence which rapidly descended upon her. 

She would not move for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did these concepts justice. I did some reading into a few things so hopefully I covered the main details but if there's any glaring inaccuracies please let me know.  
> As always comments/suggestions welcome.


	8. Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An appointment and a visit with a friend.  
> Musical inspo: everything i wanted – Billie Eillish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something for you all... its mostly fluff. The pace picks up soon though. I am sorry it has taken so long writers block is a bitch. 
> 
> *trigger warning* 
> 
> Mentions of abortion.

Stella remained on the couch until after eleven, the warm spring sunlight shone in through the front bay window and bathed the room in a bright yellow glow which gently warmed the air. She stirred from her quiescence and shuffled the blanket down off her shoulders. The weakness had subsided to a general tiredness and she was comfortably warm, but the nausea which lingered consistently all morning had not yet abated. She took her time rising and finished the glass of water from the coffee table before standing and wandering into the kitchen. She was starving so she slipped some bread into the toaster and leaned heavily against the counter folding her arms across her as she waited for it to cook. Her body ached and her muscles were sore down to the bone, she felt like she had been hit by a train. The telephone rang interrupting the stillness with its shrill tone piercing the mid-morning silence and making her jump. The sound felt like daggers stabbing at her attention, it was almost painful to hear. She answered it only to make the noise go away.

“Hi. Stella?” The perky voice of her cousin greeted her before she could answer.

“Anna.” She let out a heavy audible sigh and closed her eyes recognising the voice on the other end. “Mmm its me.” She replied in a subdued tone making it obvious she was not in a talkative mood.

“How have you been? I heard you haven’t been well.” Anna’s vibrant voice asked lightly.

Neglecting to answer she instead posed her own question quietly. “Gerrard put you up to this didn’t he?” She asked remembering his insistence for her to contact her cousin. 

“I … um .. yes.” She replied sheepishly.

“What did he say?” She queried before her cousin could excuse Gerry for speaking out and hoping to gauge the extent of what she knew. 

“Nothing really, just that you weren’t feeling well and could do with a chat. I asked him if anything happened, but he wouldn’t tell.” She replied openly rambling, seeming honest enough. 

There was a pause while Stella considered her words. It appeared that Gerry was as tight lipped about the details as he had said. She was right to trust him he was only looking out for her welfare after all. It still irritated her that he didn’t leave her to ask for help on her own, she would’ve preferred to be left alone for a quiet recovery at least for the first week or so.

“Did something happen?” Anna asked timidly her tone turning quiet and concerned.

“Yes.” She whispered reluctantly, it was barely audible. “I’d rather not talk about it.” She added softly. The toast popped behind her and began to cool but she ignored it still leaning against the counter.

“Okay…” Anna replied softly unsure of the scenario as she momentarily took in that information and the possible severity of the situation. Also probably wondering what it could be that had happened. “Have you been busy at work then?” She asked in an attempt to keep the conversation going.

“I’m off work for a while.” She followed in a dark whisper lifting herself off the counter and moving around the kitchen. She hoped her tone would be enough to deflect any further incessant questions about things she didn’t wish to explain over the phone.

“Well if you have some time off, perhaps you’d like to come and stay for a while?” Anna offered delicately. Her voice held a cautious hopefulness to it. “Give you a chance to get out of the house?” She added nervously.

“Did Gerry suggest this too?” Stella sighed, catching on immediately.

“No.” She replied innocently, there was a slight surprise in her voice. “I just thought I would extend the offer, we haven’t seen you in such a long time.” She added.

“Fine.” Stella agreed, her voice sounding bolder than her inclination to follow through with this decision.

“Really?” Anna asked. As if in disbelief that it would be that easy to convince her.

“Yes.” She said definitively, yet still re-thinking this decision.

“Did Gerry say something about wanting to catch up?” Anna asked with a new suspicious curiosity.

“No, but he has been pushing me to contact you.” Stella replied gently. She smirked to herself now realising he’s been orchestrating this not solely for her benefit but also for Anna. It appeared her cousin may also be in need of a friend for whatever reason. A house full of children and chores can be isolating at times. Perhaps Anna just needed someone to talk to. “Would tomorrow be too soon for me to stay?” She asked, psychologically preparing herself to pack her things and travel out to Cardiff the following day. She hoped she would have the energy. 

“No that’s fine. I can make up the spare room for you.” Anna replied casually. Seeming eager for her to stay.

“I’ll ring later with the details.” She replied glancing across the room at the cold toast. “Bye Anna.” She finished with gently before hanging up.

She sighed and lifted the phone from the receiver again so that it was off the hook and wouldn’t disturb her. Anyone who wanted to contact her could reach her via mobile which was on silent and wouldn’t so rudely disrupt her. She turned to the unappetisingly cold toast and prepared her breakfast despite her stomach beginning to feel increasingly uneasy.

\-------------------------------------

Sitting in Dr McKay’s office that afternoon she felt like she had aged a decade. A glance at her reflection in the elevator on the way in indicated just as much, her makeup barely covered it. Although she had rested all morning the fatigue still plagued her and her muscles ached from the aftermath of the panic attack, as she knew they would. She also felt slightly more nauseous than she had for most of the morning which was also visible in the paleness of her complexion. A slice of toast and an apple probably wasn’t enough to eat but it was a fight just to stomach that.

“There’s a few things we need to talk about today. Dr McKay began with as she sat down behind her desk. “Firstly, how are you feeling?” She asked, as if Stella’s misery wasn’t currently written all over her features. 

It took her a moment to answer. “Not very well.” She breathed, still not having the slightest interest in engaging in conversation. She was reluctant to talk about anything let alone herself and the events of the last few days. 

“That’s understandable your body’s been through a lot recently.” She replied sympathetically as she studied Stella and fiddled with her pen. 

_You have no idea._

She continued when her patient didn’t reply. “Ginger can help with the morning sickness. Are you recovering from the fall okay?” She asked casually. Stella recognised it as a means to make conversation and get her talking.

“I was.” She began reluctantly before continuing softly. “The stitches ruptured, which delayed the healing process, but they’ve been repaired.” She chose her words carefully in hopes of avoiding an explanation detailing _why_ or _how_ it occurred.

“Mmm.” Dr McKay replied in agreeance without prying, she then carried on. “Well I re-examined the results from last week, comparing your bloods with the measurements from the ultrasound, and by now you’re around eight weeks along. We should still have a discussion about dates soon to ensure this is all accurate. Have you put much consideration into what you would like to do?” She asked, giving Stella the opening she was so desperately hoping for.

“I don’t wish to continue with this.” Stella replied decisively.

“How sure are you of that decision because really I should discuss this with you first. Or I can arrange for you to see a councillor.” Dr McKay replied cautiously eyeing her and reading her body language carefully.

“No.” Stella shook her head definitively hoping she could avoid any association with a councillor or therapist of any kind. “I don’t want kids.” She said.

“Why?” Dr McKay asked challenging Stella’s resolve.

She had to think lightly for a diplomatic response that adequately portrayed her reasons without sounding heartless and cold. “I had no intention of falling pregnant.” She began breaking eye contact and fiddling with her fingers. “I have a demanding job where I often travel for weeks, sometimes months, at a time. I don’t have the time or means to raise a child.” She kept her tone light and confident.

“It seems to me the rationale behind your choice is purely altruistic.” The doctor said softly. “That the reason for not continuing is that you feel you can’t provide what a child will need.” She reasoned, which seemed to be an attempt to sway her and she continued reading her carefully.

“No.” Stella replied slightly ashamed by what she was about to admit. “It’s purely selfish.” She murmured darkly. “To make allowances for a child would mean drawing my attention away from other important things. For the past month I have been in Northern Ireland profiling and apprehending a serial killer. I can’t have anything interrupt that.” Stella said.

“The Belfast Strangler?” The Dr queried offhandedly. “It made the news here too.” She added without elaborating.

“One and the same.” She revealed in order to drive home the intensity and importance of her job. “I have no intention of sacrificing my career for parenting.” She replied letting her mind linger on the unappealing thought of having to make sacrifices at work.

“Mmm.” She thought for a minute mulling over what Stella was saying. “Have you considered adoption?”

“No. There are already enough unwanted children in this world.” Stella replied solemnly having seen the outcome of where said unwanted children tended to end up. She was Getting slightly aggravated now and couldn’t believe a woman, ( _really a woman?!?)_ was persuading her to reproduce. Had feminism achieved nothing? And she‘d be damned if she was going to ruin her body for a child she wasn’t keeping. She refused to be persuaded into staying pregnant and was completely ready for all this to be over. There was, however, one niggling thought in the back of her mind which she had chosen to evade completely since the phone call with her mother. She was getting older and if she did eventually want a baby, falling pregnant any later in her forties would be statistically unfavourable. _This may be her last chance_.

“Do _you_ want _this_ baby though?” Dr McKay asked after a long pause, placing emphasis on particular parts of the sentence.

The question caught her off guard as she mulled over her last thought. “I… Umm.. I don’t know.” She replied unsure of anything any more and suddenly realising how that answer would have been perceived. A flush of embarrassment warmed her skin. “I don’t want children.” She added with more confidence hoping to counteract her last statement.

“Well look… Let’s give it a week.” Dr McKay began. “I’ll book you in for an appointment next week that way you have some more time to re-think that decision.” She said turning to make a notation on her computer.

“Fine.” Stella replied almost petulantly, having no idea how much things were going to change during that week.

“We still need to run a few preliminary first trimester tests and discuss the due date. I have to proceed as though you will be continuing in order to gain an accurate picture of health for the both of you.” Dr McKay carried on before grasping her stethoscope and standing.

Stella’s phone buzzed in her handbag offering a welcome distraction, so she reached down to retrieve it and glanced at the screen while her doctor moved out from behind her desk. There was a text from Gerry hovering on the screen.

_“Your phone is off the hook. How are your stitches?”_

_“I know. I’m fine.”_ She typed out hastily in reply, Dr McKay was now directing her towards the examination space. 

Her phone buzzed again in her hands. He was calling her, but she couldn’t answer here so she cancelled it and let it go to voice-mail before sending a second text. 

_“Call you later, I’m in a meeting.”_ She replied before tossing it back into her handbag and apologizing.

Stella spent the next 45 minutes being clinically examined, and much to her distaste, ended up having to divulge her sordid sexual history for the sake of calculating her conception date. The only clemency being that the attractive, and apparently thorough, Dr Caitlin McKay showed no prejudice towards it. She did however take note of the still healing self-inflicted cuts on her upper thighs and probed her about their presence. Utterly mortified she did her best to minimise their existence, blaming the drunken night and tapping into her psychology training to deflect her Dr’s interest. Eventually Dr McKay acceded after she agreed to get in touch with someone to discuss it, she failed to let on that her chosen psychologist was usually herself or Gerry. Feeling like she had her feathers thoroughly ruffled, she departed in an irritable mood. Instead of calling Gerry back as she left the hospital she decided to stop by his office. He was only one floor up from Dr McKay. Paediatrics has the penthouse view of London. 

“Hey.” She greeted stopping in his the doorway and smiling. He was engrossed in working on his computer and glanced happily up at her. She was lucky he wasn’t with a patient.

“Hey.” He replied smiling and looking up at her. “What’s going on?”

“I had a prenatal appointment downstairs.” She replied honestly. He waved a hand indicating for her to come in.

“How are your stitches?” He asked getting up out of his desk and moving towards her as Stella entered. “Let me have a look.” He said gently as he came closer.

She lifted her shirt and allowed him to examine them, which he did with a calculating eye, palpating the skin around the wound carefully before concluding there was no infection developing. Despite her rough night she had been diligent with keeping the wounds clean and dressed appropriately. When he was done, he allowed her to sit opposite his desk and began asking about the phone being off the hook. She deflected as best she could but knew he wasn’t going to let her hide it from him. He knew her all too well.

“I had a panic attack.” She whispered reluctantly, letting him see the weaker side of her.

“Are you ok? What triggered it?” he furrowed his brow as real concern highlighted his features.

“I think so...” She stopped herself realising otherwise. “… actually, probably not.” She shook her head as sorrow began to creep up and leak through. “I had a nightmare and woke up terrified. I couldn’t control it.” She replied with a soft vulnerability that few ever saw.

“I see.” Gerrard replied simply, his eyes drinking in every detail of her body language.

“I’m going to stay with Anna for a while.” She said changing the subject before she started crying. Lately it seemed crying was the only way her body could handle the rampant emotion coursing through her. “I think being alone is a bad idea. I need to be with people.” She sniffed stifling her welling tears.

“Mmm.” He hummed gently agreeing. “I have been worried about you all alone in that house.” He replied reaching a hand across his desk reassuringly. “I’m glad you can recognise your situation. Do you want to talk about what triggered the attack?” he asked delicately.

“No.” She shook her head knowing full well she was not in any state to reflect on that yet. She had not even scribed it into her dream journal. The memory of that imagery was still too vivid.

“You should you know.” Gerrard encouraged. “You used to.” A soft nostalgia heavy in his tone.

“I know.” She replied softly and paused turning her gaze away. “…and I will.”

A compassionate sympathy graced his features as he stood from his desk. “Come here.” He whispered gently as he moved from behind the table and offered his arms up for a hug.

Stella rose from the chair and fell into them resting her head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms loosely around her. She felt as though a giant weight had been lifted off her as a soothing warmth grew in her. A single tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek before falling and disappearing somewhere into the fibres of his shirt. She was doing her best to hold it together and not break down completely as a rush of emotion hit her. She breathed carefully through it and blinked more tears away.

“You okay?” Gerry asked looking down at her as he broke the hug.

“Mmm.” She hummed deciding not to give an answer. “I should go.” She mumbled thickly turning her thoughts to getting her things packed for the trip to Anna’s and reaching for her bag. 

“Stay in touch.” Gerry whispered, and she nodded in reply as she departed, her heels tapping lightly and echoing around the empty hospital corridor. 


	9. Innocent Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm. 
> 
> A bit of fluff, and a cute little moment while chaos brews in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musical inspo: Mother's Love - Novaa
> 
> (I do apologise for any niggling grammatical errors, I edited and posted this while slightly high.)  
> Enjoy.

_A ship in the harbour is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for. – John A. Shedd_

* * *

Stella sat at her cousins dining table after lunch the next day, clutching a warm cup of tea, while the noises of the house around her seemed like a shock to her senses. She was only barely listening to Anna ramble on about the kid’s recent achievements as she stared into her tea taking small sips doing her best to appear intently interested while suppressing the ever-present morning sickness. Her 8-year-old niece Sophie was chasing her 5-year-old brother Connor, running circles around the adults sitting at the table. The youngest, 3-year-old Jack was thankfully immobilised in a chair at the table munching on a cookie scattering crumbs across a wide radius. The surrounding mess and chaos felt like an utter horror show for Stella as she observed the family’s normal activities. Her distaste for exactly this kind of mess was one of the reasons she never had children. 

“You got an award at school didn’t you Sophie.” Anna said turning her attention to the girl trotting around the room. “Stop chasing him, and go get your award to show Auntie Stella.”

The little girl paused and cast an observing eye in Stella’s direction. “Okay.” She acquiesced and departed for the stairs. 

Stella took another sip from her tea and watched the youngster go, relieved by the immediate lull in the noise level. Still weak from her hospital stay and the panic attack, the train trip out here had really taken it out of her. The painkillers she had been taking since the surgery didn’t help either. They made her drowsy and she also thought they contributed to her queasiness.

“Here.” Sophie held out a small piece of cardboard towards Stella when she returned. It was decorated with gold stars and congratulated the good work she had been doing in class.

“It’s very impressive.” Stella cooed giving it her undivided interest as the little girl beamed with pride in front of her. “Have you been keeping it somewhere special?” She asked attentively.

Sophie nodded as Stella handed it back smiling watching her closely. She was the same age as Spector’s little girl and as Sophie departed, she was reminded of the time Olivia reached her arms out to Stella in the emergency room for a hug. It broke her heart to see such a lonely young thing sitting on a hospital bed with a blanket draped around her, and it served as a reminder of her current self. Longing for someone stable to hold her.

“Make sure you put it back in the folder with the others.” Anna called out as Sophie left to return it to her room.

“Do you mind if I lie down for a while?” Stella asked as she stood indicating towards the stairs. Yearning for some quiet time.

“Sure thing, take all the rest time you need.” Anna said as she bustled about clearing up the tea mugs and lunch plates. “I’ll keep the kids quiet for you.” She smiled. While Stella had told her cousin she was recently in hospital from an incident at work, she didn’t give any details.

“Thanks.” Stella said timidly before climbing the stairs and closing the guest room door behind her.

She sat on the edge of the bed her stomach churning and placed a hand on her belly to calm it. Her phone rang in her pocket so she reached to fish it out.

“Gibson.” She answered in her usual tone without taking a moment to glance at the caller ID.

“It’s Chris. I received a notice from PSNI. They want to recall you back to Belfast to testify at the Foyle enquiry.” Her Boss’ professional tone crackled in her ear.

“Did you tell them I’m unavailable?” She queried as panic immediately flooded through her at the prospect of having to re-immerse herself in that world.

“Of course I did Stella, but they were pushy and weren’t keen on accepting it. Now I did what I could to delay them but it’s only a matter of time before they subpoena you for a formal statement.” He replied explaining.

“Are they aware I’m on medical leave?” She asked icily masking her nervousness. She was feeling shaky and the nausea was worsening as it melded with the anxiousness, which was now rapidly rising.

“No, I figured that was up to you to disclose at your own discretion. We will have to work things out fast they want to fly you up in the next few days.” He said frankly.

“I can’t go, you know that. I just had surgery. I’m not supposed to leave the house, let alone leave the country.” She snapped, despite the fact that she had already left London.

“I know. I’ll do what I can from my end but it may mean full disclosure of your recent health information. Are you okay with that?” He asked tentatively checking.

“Fine.” She said. Given that she had not yet informed her boss of her pregnancy nor was it included in any of her leave paperwork at the Met, she felt it was safe to say yes, but she would’ve preferred otherwise. If it were only for the broken bones she would’ve returned to Belfast without question but having to deal with morning sickness, she would dig her heels in and resist at all costs.

“I have to go.” She said abruptly hanging up. The stress which arose from possibly returning to Belfast was turning her stomach in knots. She stopped pacing by sitting on the edge of the bed, stuffed the phone into her handbag, and placed her hand comfortingly over her stomach. Bowing her head and closing her eyes she breathed slow and gently but it did nothing to quell the nausea. She was going to be sick. She moved to the bathroom quietly closing the door behind her hoping not to arouse suspicion. She really didn’t want this to happen at her cousin’s place, but it was inevitable given the state she was in. It didn’t feel any less indecent.

She braced herself with a hand against the cistern, vomiting up a blurry mixture of salad sandwich and earl grey before sliding her hand to the lever and flushing it away. She felt disgustingly shaky and drained, and took a moment to calm herself at the basin after rinsing her mouth. 

When she emerged, she was confronted immediately by her niece Sophie who was standing just outside the bathroom door on the upstairs landing.

“Are you ill Aunty Stella?” She timidly asked, those big deep blue eyes looking up at her swimming in worry.

_Busted_

It never ceased to amaze her how in tune children were to the environment around them. Stella sighed and squatted down to her level.

“A little bit” She replied softly “…but it will pass soon.” It was important to her not to lie to children. In her personal life or in her job, she always told them the truth, albeit a watered-down version.

“Are you going to bed? Mummy says we need to be in bed when we’re poorly.” She asked watching Stella carefully. She was drinking in every detail of her body language through those navy eyes. 

“Yes, I am. So I can rest until I feel better.” She replied softly smiling slightly. Bed was exactly where she intended to be, but it felt wrong being so distant with the people she was visiting.

“Can I rest with you?” Sophie asked hopefully. She could tell that the young girl just wanted to spend time with her. Another woman different from her mother, more feminine, someone she could discover and learn from.

She considered the request for a moment before answering. “Yes, you can. Do you want to get something to read or draw?” Stella hoped that if the girl had something to keep her occupied, she could lie still in her company without having to entertain her. She directed the young one towards her flamboyantly pink bedroom by the shoulder, turning her away and letting her go. She then turned towards her guest room and collapsed on top of the bed covers snuggling into the pillows, kicking off her shoes.

A few moments later little Sophie entered and climbed up with her. Sitting on the end of the bed with a book and some pencils. The eight-year-old picked up one of Stella’s stilettos from the covers near her feet.

“Your shoes are very pointy.” She said examining the beige Prada pump in detail. “Do they hurt your feet?” She asked.

“Sometimes.” Stella whispered without lifting her heavy head from the soft pillows. Although less nauseous she still felt weak from being sick. 

“How come you wear them if they hurt?” There was a slight confusion in the girl’s tone and her eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to make sense of it.

“Because they make me taller.” She whispered simply without shifting her position.

“Why do you have to be taller?” Sophie asked still confused.

Her niece’s curiosity was wearing on her exhaustion, all she wanted was to close her eyes for a while but she didn’t want to quash the curiosity in the girl.

“I don’t have to be, I just like it.. and I like how they sound. They make me feel strong and important so I can do my job well.” She explained quietly hoping it would be enough.

Sophie seemed satisfied with that answer and she put the shoe back down on the bed.

“What did you bring? Is this colouring?” Stella asked quietly redirecting the focus, looking up and reaching a hand towards the book Sophie put on the bed.

“Yes. It’s my colouring book. I’m going to finish some more of the bunny.” She said excitedly turning her attention back to her things.

As Sophie flipped through the book Stella could see that every page had colour on it and though they weren’t finished Sophie had done a little bit on each. All except one.

“Wait, which one is that.” Stella asked pointing out the blank page.

“The butterfly. I’m saving it for last because it’s special.” Sophie explained casually without turning her attention away from what she was doing.

“Do you like butterflies?” Stella asked even though she already knew. She saw the girl’s room earlier was filled with them.

“Yes. They’re my favourite.” She said adjusting her pencils.

Stella shuffled her head deeper into the pillows and closed her eyes as Sophie flicked a finger through the pencils selecting one to start colouring with.

“Mine too.” She whispered moments away from slumber listening to Sophie begin.

There were no more questions and Sophie kept colouring in quietly. The young girl’s tender presence was comforting, and Stella felt pleasantly safe as the soft brushing of pencil against page carried her into a gentle light sleep.

* * *

She awoke in the cool of the late afternoon. The room was darker, and sunlight no longer bled into the room through the open curtains. Sophie had long since abandoned the bed and taken her colouring things with her. Stella spotted a rogue pencil which had fallen to the floor evidently missed in the pack up. She smiled remembering where she was and the comforting presence of her niece. Her thoughts turned to the child within her and she wondered if her baby could grow up to be intuitive, caring, and curious like Sophie. She imagined a young girl with blonde hair and acid blue eyes at her own kitchen counter colouring something before she tore herself away from the idea. She heard the unmistakable sounds of her cousin in the kitchen downstairs chopping something and preparing a meal along with the drone of the television and the intermittent noises of the children playing. She sat up and reached for her phone in her handbag by the bed. The clock on the screen indicated it was after 5pm but there were also several missed calls and messages sitting there begging for her attention. She had no idea how she managed to sleep through the incessant buzzing. She picked up the stray colouring pencil from the floor by her feet after slipping on her shoes and headed downstairs to return it to its owner, scrolling through the messages as she left the room.

“Oh you’re awake.” Anna quipped over her shoulder as she noticed Stella at the bottom of the stairs. “I was going to come up and check on you after I finished this.” She indicated to the large culinary knife in her hands where she was wrestling a huge wedge of raw pumpkin into smaller bite sized pieces.

She pulled her eyes up from her phone screen and nodded to acknowledge her cousin. The woman was effortlessly slender and the afternoon light bounced off collarbones and biceps as she cut the vegetables. Light brown hair shoulder length hair showing streaks of gold and honey while she moved. Her figure, after three children, somehow defied the rules of nature. Almost ten years younger than Stella, like all the women in her family she exhibited an electric air that captivated those around her. The same power Stella used to manipulate a professional advantage.

“Could I have a glass of water?” Stella asked lightly. The nausea from earlier had subsided with her rest and she felt better than she did earlier. Despite her disinclination to eat yet and the fact that dinner was at least an hour away, her stomach growled making her hunger known.

“Sure, the glasses are in the cupboard just there.” Anna indicated across the kitchen using the knife as a pointer. “There’s some ice water in the fridge.” She added as Stella retrieved a glass tumbler.

She instead moved to the sink and filled it at the tap preferring her water at room temperature. She hadn’t realised how thirsty she was until the liquid touched her lips and she sculled the full glass down all at once.

“I’m sorry for being an absentee house guest.” She apologised as she refilled it. She took a small sip and leaned against a section of empty bench space near her cousin.

“Its fine Stella, you don’t need to apologise.” Anna said quietly turning an inky blue eye in Stella’s direction as she continued cutting. “You can make up for it by deciding what we’re having for dinner.” She added letting the smile lighten her features. “Moroccan lamb or honey mustard chicken?” She asked brightly.

Neither of those options seemed appealing, and she would prefer to just have the bland vegetables to keep her stomach calm. “Don’t make me decide, I won’t eat much.” She replied doing her best not to let her voice sour.

“Oh really?” Anna replied looking at her, the smile faltering with a renewed concern.

“You should let Sophie choose.” Stella added as she noticed the young girl move into the kitchen. She had turned away from the cartoons on the TV in the living room and was now watching the pair talking.

“Sophie chose last night.” Anna glanced briefly at her daughter as she wandered into the kitchen.

“I have something for you.” Stella smiled as the girl came towards her. The young one’s eyes lit up as she pulled the errant pencil from her pocket and held it out towards her niece. “You left this behind.” She whispered handing it to her. 

“What do you say?” Anna said sternly as she watched the exchange.

“Thank you.” The girl sang mechanically as she stole a furtive glance at her mother for being reminded. “Are you feeling better now Aunty Stella?” She asked hopefully, looking up into her eyes.

She paused momentarily not knowing exactly what to say. She knew if she admitted the truth she would then have to explain everything to Anna but she also didn’t want to give Sophie a half-baked answer.

“Mostly.” She whispered crouching down to the girl’s level. She slipped a loose strand of hair away from the girl’s face and tucked it behind her ear. “Why don’t you go put your pencil away with the others while mummy and I finish in the kitchen.” She added gently squeezing her shoulder before Sophie nodded and turned to leave.

“Better?” Anna queried with a puzzled expression, questioning her about the exchange after Sophie left.

“She caught me in bed earlier and I told her I wasn’t feeling well.” She mentioned, loosely filling her in on the events. “Where’s Andy this afternoon? I thought he would be home.” She asked lightly, both as a means of directing the conversation away from herself and because she was wondering why her cousin’s husband had been so absent all day.

“He’s down at the pub.” Anna quipped casually.

The statement set off alarm bells in her mind, but she didn’t immediately act on them. The years of experience on the force had her instincts tingling with the way in which Anna so casually mentioned it. It was worrying, and she now felt a renewed vigour to seek out more information. “How often does he do that?” She asked gently allowing only a mild interest to be seen.

“All the time.” Anna answered. “Actually, it’s become kind of a regular thing lately.” Her brows furrowed a little. “He’ll be home around dinner time, if not soon after.” She added as reassurance. Seeming more so for herself than Stella’s benefit. 

Stella took her last sip of water and put the empty glass into the sink. She was about to offer Anna assistance with preparing dinner so she could examine the husband situation more closely, but her phone rang rudely interrupting her pursuit of the topic.

“I’m sorry.” She apologised as she retrieved it. Late on a Saturday she wondered who would still be working at this hour and be in need of her input. She hadn’t yet been able to screen through all the messages that came in while she was resting. She made a point of glancing at the caller ID as she decided if, whoever it was, took priority over her current conversation.

"I need to take this." She whispered pulling her attention away reluctantly.

It was Eastwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty friends buckle up because things are about to get BUSY.


	10. Constellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As night approaches so too does the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music inspo: DNA - Lia Marie Johnson 
> 
> I don't know where this chapter came from and I never intended to include anything like this but it came to me and it felt right so here it is. I also could not for the life of me, settle on a title so if it doesn't fit I'm sorry.

_"Innocence, once lost, can never be regained. Darkness, once gazed upon, can never be lost." – John Milton_

* * *

They were halfway through dinner (Moroccan lamb, Connors choice) when Andy made his grand entrance. The commotion at the front door was heard by all at the table, he dropped his keys three times before fumbling with the lock and stumbling into the hall.

“Daddy’s home!” Connor shrieked smiling, his little face lit up at the noise and he turned to look over his shoulder for a glimpse of his father without getting up from the table.

The unmistakable thuds of Andy removing his shoes and tossing them haphazardy across the hall could be heard as he waywardly approached. Stella smelled him long before he entered, her heightened sense of smell couldn’t block the intense aroma of stale alcohol mingled with body odour and sweaty socks forcing its way into her nostrils. She could taste the cheap beer he reeked of in the back of her throat and almost gagged when he moved into the room.

“Hey guys” He greeted genially, swaying slightly and bouncing off the threshold. “What did you get up to today?” his movements sloppy and slow as he came closer.

“We picked Aunty Stella up from the train station” Sophie answered brightly.

He glanced at her lazily rubbing a hand through his messy curly dark hair. Bloodshot heavily lidded eyes scanned her as his mind searched for a hint of recognition. She stared back coldly offering nothing. Anna placed the plate she prepared earlier for him down on the table, and before she could move back to her own seat he roughly groped her on the ass. He then sank into a chair immediately tucking into the food like a caveman. The characteristic aroma of alcoholism hung thick in the air.

Stella suppressed a gag and dropped her cutlery abruptly abandoning the food in front her. “Excuse me.” She choked out excusing herself from the table and immediately leaping up dashing from the room without pause. She had to get away from him as quickly as possible or she would end up surrendering a second meal to the porcelain altar in the bathroom she had been kneeling in front of so regularly. Her body was approaching the point where any more lapses in nutrition would start to take their toll on her health, her recovery, and perhaps her baby. She couldn’t afford to be sick again. Retreating to the guest room, closing the door to the wafting stench which seemed to stick to the inside of her nostrils, she neglected to lie down. Feeling antsy and irritated by what she just witnessed, she paced back and forth, deep in thought, analysing the family dynamic as remnants of conversation drifted up from downstairs. At none of the family functions over the past year or two had she seen any indication that Andy would become the man she observed this evening. She recalled Christmases, birthdays and even funerals where he showed no signs of being anything other than a regular stable guy and loving father. Then again, at plenty of those events, courtesy of her mother’s excellent wine choices, she herself had been tipsier than he ever appeared to be. 

That was the problem with alcoholics, they were always so damn good at hiding it.

Anna knocked on the door. “Stella?” her muffled voice timid and concerned.

She sighed heavily knowing that her rather dramatic exit would’ve drawn attention in her direction. “Come in.” She uttered sitting on the edge of the bed with her elbows resting on her knees burying her head in her hands.

“Are you ok?” Anna asked.

“Jumpy stomach.” She replied rubbing it absent-mindedly and looking up. The nausea had died down but she had no intention of returning to the table. 

“You’re not ill, are you? Do you have a fever?” Anna asked fussing as she moved over towards her and lifted a hand in an attempt to gauge her temperature.

“No… stop.” Stella shied away ducking mildly to avoid the invasion of her personal space. She didn’t like to be touched. Silence hung awkwardly for a second while she recomposed herself deciding on how best to handle this.

Anna had placed a hand on her hip and watched her with expectant confusion. “Please tell me what’s going on.” She begged.

“I don’t want you to make a fuss.” She began deciding if this was really the best moment to have this conversation, bearing in mind a heavily drunk Andy was currently downstairs alone with the kids. “I’m okay. I’ll tell you later… when we can talk properly.” Her resolved softened.

Anna nodded curtly as a reluctant acceptance. "Are you finished with diner?" She asked.

"Just put it aside and I'll finish it later." she replied quietly.

Anna gave another brief nod and closed the door behind her.

* * *

“Bastards!” She whispered to herself out loud. It was later in the evening and the kids were in bed. She was sitting on her bed reading through her emails. The words on her laptop screen before her elicited a flare of anger and anxiety within as she read. Her boss had CC’d her into his exchange with PSNI over their request to have her return. Chris had played his best hand by finding loopholes where he could, but it wasn’t enough. She had been subpoenaed to give a formal statement under oath at the Spector inquest and Foyle investigation. The subsequent emails contained flight details for her to depart for Belfast on Monday morning.

_Fucking bastards!_

She felt the overwhelming urge for the need to swim as anxiety erupted within her. She slammed her laptop closed and paced the guest room brooding in anger. Her fingers played on her lips as she considered her position, heavy in thought, until a commotion outside her door on the upstairs landing piqued at her hearing. She stopped in her tracks and froze to listen. 

“Come here babe.” Andy’s words slurred.

“No… Andy stop!” Anna pleaded, desperation in her voice.

“Stop being a bitch and come here.” He grunted maliciously.

There was a series of thuds and shuffles before she heard Anna cry out in pain “Ah!”

Stella ripped the door open and saw Andy with a firm grip on Anna’s wrist pulling her towards the bedroom. Upon seeing Stella appear, Andy immediately released his wife who wriggled free, and he retreated back into his bedroom. Anna’s embarrassment was obvious as she stood uncomfortably across from her in the hall. The brunette’s features looked like she was attempting to figure out if Stella would react to what she just witnessed. Recognising the electricity of the moment Stella said nothing to make it awkward, instead she stepped aside holding her own door open wordlessly inviting her cousin into her room. She let her features soften sitting on the end of her bed and patted the space next to her as a non-verbal suggestion for Anna to sit and join her. Her mind raced, she was livid, and her body tingled with rage but she couldn’t allow Anna to see any hint of it. 

She cocked her head towards the door slightly. “He comes home like that every night, doesn’t he?” She queried, gently shifting the focus of her gaze so it didn’t seem like she was examining her cousin.

Anna yielded and sank onto the bed like she had the wind knocked out of her. Offering only a shy nod.

“Does he ever get angry?... Abusive?” She asked speaking slowly. She kept her voice delicate and emotionless knowing she was dancing around a very sensitive area. She couldn’t approach this conversation in a way any differently to how she did for her victims. She steeled herself over into work mode.

“Sometimes.” The younger brunette timidly relinquished, avoiding eye contact by fiddling with her fingers.

“Violent?

“No.”

She perceived the slight tell-tale features of a lie with that answer as she studied her cousins face intensely.

“…he does get frisky though.” Anna continued. “He comes onto me, all handsy, keen for sex like he did just now.” She breathed truthfully.

“Does he force you?”

“He gets pushy but he’s never hurt me.” She shrugged.

Stella took a deep breath. They were hovering in the grey area of blurred consent and it was a dangerous zone for her cousin to be. She knew it was only a matter of time before it escalated, at the next step it could progress to assault or outright rape.

“You know… you don’t have to give in to him. If you ever feel unsafe when he’s like that, you should phone the police.” She offered throwing out a lifeline and hoping her cousin was brave enough and smart enough to take it. “Or me… any time.” She added grasping a hand.

“He knows the police.” She replied darkly, shuffling uncomfortably.

Stella rested a hand on her cousin’s knee reassuringly and leaned in close. She significantly outranked whatever street officer Andy was having drinks with and her influence far surpassed that of the local station. A blue flame lit up her eyes and she locked onto Anna’s deep watery ones evoking a renewed confidence.

“I am the police.” She whispered purposefully, allowing a mild encouraging smile to flutter on her features.

They sat silently for a minute. Anna bit her lip and blinked away blurry tears, she gazed at her with a renewed curiosity and lifted a hand to the scar on Stella’s brow. The scar Spector had left there. She had removed the stitch herself and without make-up the skin was pink and raw against the porcelain of the rest of her face. She allowed Anna’s fingers to press on her skin and dance around the remnants of the bruises left there.

“I was attacked by a serial killer.” She whispered before the brunette could ask.

“Is that why you were in hospital?”

“No.” She uttered. Though she felt like she owed an explanation after the territory they’d shared tonight already. “It was something stupid really” She said looking back on the series of events that occurred. “I fainted and fell down a flight of stairs.” She paused. “…broke a few ribs and had to have surgery.”

“Oh.” Anna answered slightly deflated by the innocuous story. “What about the serial killer?”

“He’s dead.” Stella said bluntly, unable to contain the rage she felt against him. He was dead, yet like a demon, his darkness was still screwing with her life.

“Listen… I have to return to London tomorrow, but if you ever need me, I want you to call me.” She said turning the topic away from it.

“I thought you were staying for the week.” Anna asked confused.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. I need to sort some things out with work.” She felt guilty now having to leave her cousin with the state of the relationship, but she was bound legally by a court document. There was no way around it. 

* * *

On the train back to London late Sunday afternoon an intuitive sense of foreboding crept up on her. She left Anna with as much helpful resources as she could. Phone numbers for women at risk of spousal abuse, fliers on alcoholism and alcohol fuelled violence, some information on consent, and even an online peer group she could access help from anonymously if she needed it. It still did not assuage the growing guilt with every mile the train sped past carrying her away from her cousin. She couldn’t shake the impending sense that something bad would happen in her absence. Men were so predictably boring. It was always alcohol. Women were far more creative and elaborate in their self-destruction. Stella knew she herself was a classic example of that. The number of psychopathologies she possessed, yet rarely expressed, throughout the years since her father’s death, would cause most mainstream therapists to run screaming. She hoped Anna wouldn’t be touched by the same darkness.

It was almost night when the train pulled into Paddington station, she glanced briefly at her home station on the underground map as she changed lines and sighed longingly. There was somewhere else she needed to visit before she could complete the final leg home and prepare for her morning flight. Fatigue still plagued her system, her limbs were heavy, and each movement felt like she was moving through thick mud. Her ribs throbbed, aching where her still healing fractures were stressed each time she had to lift and move her bags. Although she managed to drift off for a brief nap shortly after leaving Cardiff, it barely scratched the surface on her physical and emotional tiredness. She was living in a state of perpetual exhaustion. It was taking its toll.

* * *

“No rest for the wicked ay.” A voice behind her growled.

She was ferreting around the surface of her desk in her London office for the Spector paperwork she left there before her hospital trip. She wanted to go over her notes before flying back to Belfast and came here straight from Cardiff. It was after hours and she was hoping to avoid any awkward confrontations with staff, but she should’ve known better. There was always someone chasing a criminal, hers was the department that never slept.

“Evening Sir.” She whispered guiltily in greeting to her boss, and continued rifling through the papers in front of her.

“I thought you were supposed to be on leave?” He asked dubiously raising his eyebrows at her. “You’re going back to Belfast then?” He asked leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets.

She nodded. “As you said, no rest for the wicked.” She replied smiling gently.

He chuckled. “I should’ve known we’d see you in here before you were supposed to be. Some of the boys had bets on it.” He smiled mischievously.

“Yeah? Who won?” She asked curiously, the remnants of a smile still tugging at the corner of her lips. More as a way of determining how well her subordinates were able to peg down her actions than anything else.

“No one. They all thought you wouldn’t last more than 3 days.” He grinned.

“Normally they would’ve been right.” She smiled softly in return. “There were… complications.” She uttered softly hoping not to go into detail and have to come up with an excuse to explain away her morning sickness. She wondered for how long she was going to be able to use her recovery from surgery as a ruse to hide it.

“I’m not staying, I just came in for the Spector files. I left them here before I….” She trailed off before having to mention the collapse.

“I’ve got them in my office, I read over them when they contacted me requesting you return.” He said mildly, gesturing into the hallway for her to accompany him to retrieve them.

“Find them interesting? Entertaining?” She asked dropping the paperwork in her hand and joining him as they left her office. She wondered with how much depth he looked through them. Did he read the details about the invasion of her hotel room by Spector? Jim’s corruption with Munro on the policing board? The transcript of the interview room where Spector spoke about the contents of her diary? She felt examined. Again.

“Well he certainly proved to be a formidable adversary that’s for sure.” Chris sighed as they entered his office.

“No. He’s no different to the rest.” She brushed off in an attempt to minimise the impact he had on her. It was now her turn to hang in her boss’ doorway.

“He made you a victim Stella.” He said concerned looking up at her as he pushed papers around his desk. “…And frankly I wouldn’t have allowed you to continue investigating it after the incident with your hotel room. It compromises the integrity and objectivity of the case.”

“No, he didn’t.” She replied “They don’t have the staff qualified or experienced enough to handle a case like that. I had no choice really.” She stared icily at him without moving as a non-threatening means of standing her ground. She needed him as her ally on this.

“Yeah you did, you just chose the riskier option.” He said picking up the thick manilla file which she recognised immediately as her own. “Now I know you’ve built a reputation on pushing boundaries to successfully get the job done, but you made some reckless choices on this one. Even for you.” He paused and studied her handing it over. “Should I be worried?” He added keeping an observing eye on her.

“I’m fine.” She brushed off as she accepted the file from him.

“Yeah you look it.” He said sarcastically grinning.

“Oh, shut up, I’m still recovering.” She said in a frustrated defence, clearly stung by the collusion.

She knew he was there when she collapsed, and he responded by giving her a knowing glance, smirking at her response. He was one of the few who could successfully push her buttons and live to tell the tale. “Speaking of which…” His tone turning professional as he remembered. “You need to see a Met doctor to have your injuries assessed for your duty status and an extension of leave.” He mentioned casually as he broke eye contact and moved back behind his desk. 

“After I get back from Belfast.” She replied softly, before turning and departing, the files held close to her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who would you like to see Stella interact with in Belfast? Reed? Danni? Eastwood?  
> I was planning on a Reed/Stella pairing but I feel like there's definitely something between her and Eastwood that I think needs to be addressed. He could prove to be a valuable friend.  
> I've written some already so it shouldn't be too long a wait.


	11. Souls of the Departed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belfast. Not quite as tragic as anticipated.  
> Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty y'all wanted Eastwood so here he is. I hope I did it justice  
> This chapter and the next kinda go hand in hand (they were originally one that I had to split). They're a bit fluffy/angsty and very PSNI centric but meh. They kinda feel a bit shit. It took me a while to really get a feel for Eastwood. I hope you at least get a bit of a kick out of it.  
> Musical inspo:  
> Graveyard (Acoustic) – Halsey  
> I miss you, I’m sorry – Gracie Abrams

_"The laws of mechanics dictate that when two celestial entities collide, there is always damage of a collateral nature."  
– Professor James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes_

* * *

The sleek black armoured car was waiting for her at the airport when she arrived in Belfast, and she climbed carefully into the back seat next to DCI Matt Eastwood. He looked her over as he always did, with a mild amused interest.

“How was the flight?” He asked menially.

She exhaled sighing and didn’t reply. Glancing at him briefly before turning away and gazing out the window into the city, not having the slightest interest in engaging with small talk. Her reflection in the dark glass did indeed look exhausted and even a little pale. She knew he had seen her sleep deprived on several occasions throughout the Spector case but never like this. Eastwood had, she later discovered, kept her confidence when it came to his knowledge of her questionable activities. It was other personnel who uncovered the rumours and created drama. She no longer felt the need to be as guarded against him as she would anyone else. Evidently by assisting him with the Breedlove incident she had earned his respect and solidarity. He seemed non-judgemental and she didn’t know what she did to deserve the privilege of working with such a person. They were thrown together into the volatile peak of the investigation and she expected some friction, but there was none. He was always so mellow and she now felt like she could trust him, which was rare.

“You look tired.” He said genuinely, after contemplating her for a while, showing his care.

She glanced at him briefly again before answering noticing a gentleness to his features. “I’m exhausted.” She replied softly looking down pointedly avoiding his gaze. Much like the plane, the movement of the car wasn’t doing her permanent morning sickness any favours. She was feeling miserable but it was likely more down to the stress of being here than anything else.

“Busy caseload back at Scotland Yard?” He asked casually eyeing her with an increased curiosity.

“No...” She shook her head trailing off thoughtfully before continuing. “I was recently hospitalised.” She said calculating the possible repercussions of admitting that to him. Aside from when Spector attacked her, she had never shown him any weakness. If anything only the opposite. It would likely only cause concern which didn’t matter now. They were in uncharted waters. “I’m still recovering.” She breathed. “…and now I’ve been dragged back here.” She added, her resolve stiffening, hoping to drive home her distaste for being summoned back to Belfast.

“What happened? An incident in the field?” He seemed genuinely concerned but also mildly curious.

“Collapsed lung.” She answered inconsequentially, still avoiding eye contact, her tone turning quiet. “…and no, it was something else.” She offered without further explanation.

“I’m sorry to hear.” He replied, a gentle frown appearing on his features. “Are you okay?”

She glanced at him to read is features. He seemed so genuine in his line of questioning it was almost suspicious, and Stella’s instinctual reaction was always to conceal and deflect. She shook off his worry by glancing out the window again. She was not ok. There was nothing about her, and her current predicament that was in any way okay. She could at least recognise that, but she was well enough to be back here to testify and she would never admit anything more than that.

“How’s Anderson’s arm?” She asked changing the topic away from his prying questions.

“You’re really asking me about him? After I saw you together?” He questioned lightly smirking. Eyebrows raised in a sceptical surprise plainly referring to the morning he saw them both arrive in her car.

“You saw nothing.” She said darkly throwing him a cautious glare. A lick of panic struck through her momentarily highlighting her nausea, so she masked it with irritation. “Am I not allowed to show concern for a colleague?” An inflection of annoyance apparent in her tone.

He smirked at her thoughtfully and bowed his head as an act of amused submission. “Its fine.” He paused for a moment before continuing his answer. “He’s on two weeks leave for his arm to heal. Reassessment for desk duty sometime after that. It will be 6-8 weeks for the bones to heal at least, and then there’s the nerve damage.” He said quietly.

She sighed and closed her eyes. She really felt for the young man, the severity of the injury to his arm could end his policing career and he had good instincts. She felt personally responsible as it was her who pushed for him to accompany Spector despite people’s suggestions for other officers. The anger at Spector fired up again and she rubbed her stomach absent-mindedly to soothe the nausea. She stared into nothing, brooding over how much of a cataclysmic effect a single murderer has had on the entire department. This place was a shit show from the moment she first arrived all those weeks ago.

“Who’s heading the serious crimes unit now Jim’s resigned?” She asked wondering if he was in rehab again and if she would have to entirely change her game-plan to accede to a new leader. 

“No one yet, chief took over managing things temporarily, we’re short on staff as it is, which is why you were originally brought in for the Parker-Munro case. They’ll likely pull someone from the Met temporarily for his position as well.” Eastwood explained casually.

She gave a curt nod in understanding as she contemplated who they could take from her office that would be suitably ranked to step into the role.

“Why? Are you vying for the position?” He asked smirking playfully.

She offered a small smile in reply and shook her head dismissively. “No.” She said wistfully before turning her gaze again towards following the city as it passed the car window. Not only did she not have the rank, but with the state of her health situation she would be lucky to hold onto her current position, let alone a promotion. Even after the medical leave time she needed for her ribs to heal, if she carried on with the pregnancy, she would no doubt be placed on reduced duties until maternity leave. After that as the single mother of an infant she hadn’t yet figured out how she could plausibly return to, and keep up with, the same demanding position she currently occupied. She shuddered at the prospect of having to sacrifice the career she spent so many years building for the child growing within her. _I don’t have to… I have time._ She thought to herself as she considered the upcoming abortion appointment for the umpteenth time.

“You’re scheduled for the formal interview with the ombudsman tomorrow morning. I’ve made the conference room available this afternoon as well as all the case notes and evidence if there was anything you wish to go over.” He mentioned.

“Thank you.” She mused as she contemplated what it would be that she would be called upon to answer for during the interview, and what actions she would need to justify. She needed to go over the suspect interviews, a lot of that went against protocol in this case, but she did what she had to in order to save Rose. Every choice made, questionable or otherwise, was to assuage the guilt of that.

* * *

After several hours dusk was falling outside the conference room windows, and brilliant shades of pink and lilac blended with the grey sky. The table in front of her, which stretched the full length of the room, was scattered end to end with paperwork, files, and evidence from the case. Every inch of the glossy surface was obscured as she moved around the room taking in information here and there making further notations. While Stella had committed most of the physical evidence, like Spector’s diaries and sketches, to memory, it was the decision logs and movements made at each development that she needed to mull over to search for inaccuracies or alternative options. Anything that could be considered not well thought out, or handled poorly, and each action carried out by the staff in her taskforce. While a lot of her decisions had to be endorsed or backed by the gold commander Chief Jim Burns, as taskforce leader and SIO she would be held immediately responsible. As captain of the ship, now that it had gone down, she was liable to go with it. She needed to do anything and everything she could to manipulate her way out of it.

It was almost dark outside before she came across Spector’s autopsy within the mountains of paperwork and evidence. She flicked through it out of mild curiosity and to check there was no glaring issue she had overlooked. She knew how he died. She saw the body only minutes afterwards. She did not need a blow by blow acutely detailed physiological description of how her case came to a screaming halt by his hand. She recognised the medical pathologist’s handwriting along with the signature on the last page. Flashes of Reed’s dark lips mashed up against hers that night in Burt’s Bar punctured her vision interrupting her train of thought. She shook them aside and tossed the paperwork down sighing now unable to get Reed out of her head. She was drawn to her, and the allure the brunette left her with. Always wanting. Between the motorbike and the ruthless thorough way she got her work done, the professor gave off a bad-girl vibe, but she really wasn’t. She was soft, delicately spoken, and somewhat shy. It was the juxtaposition of that which intrigued her, she wanted to know more. She wanted to spend hours with her mind, picking at the vast medical and forensic knowledge. And her body, she wanted so much more of everything Reed was, all to herself. She picked up her coat and shoved a few things into her pockets before checking a car out of the motor pool leaving the conference room still a mess behind her. 

* * *

She stood in Reed’s office doorway for a few moments leaning on her shoulder with her head tilted against the frame and watched, appreciating Reed’s graceful beauty as she waited for her to glance up from her computer where she was busy typing.

“Hey.” Reed said in a friendly warm tone as her dark eyes flitted up momentarily from the screen.

“Hey.” Stella replied gently with a small warm smile in return.

“I thought you were in London.” Reed remarked. There was a hint of blunt coolness in her tone which didn’t go unnoticed by Stella. 

“I was… Until about six hours ago.” She replied gently as she lifted herself off the door frame and moved into the room, not taking her eyes off Reed. 

“You didn’t say when you were leaving. I thought you weren’t coming back.” Reed replied. She was gathering her papers from the report in front of her ready for filing.

“I originally wasn't. It was rather sudden, I’m sorry.” She replied looking down from Reed’s gaze recognising how selfish those actions may have seemed at the rapid closure of the case. She had meant to call and follow up on the autopsy results, but she ended up in hospital which very rapidly ceased all her involvement.

“Anything interesting in Spector’s autopsy?” She kept her tone light and professional hoping not to allow any of her emotions towards that case to seep through. She was fishing for any niggling detail that wasn't included in the official report

“Nothing. Textbook asphyxiation. He had no outward abnormalities; it was all very normal.” Reed replied leaning back in her chair remembering.

Stella simply nodded relieved. “Can I ask you something?” She inquired curiously, keeping her voice delicate and her eyes soft.

Reed watched her with a slight cautiousness but nodded before moving from her desk to pack away her paperwork.

“Sarah Kay...” She began cautiously. “We assumed she didn’t know about her pregnancy because she was out drinking with friends. How long do you think it would’ve been before she had realised, if it wasn’t for Spector?” She asked trying to make the question come off as professional curiosity, and not a great personal need to find out why she also didn’t notice she was pregnant at a similar stage. She did after all, identify strongly with the professional women Spector hunted.

“It’s difficult to say.” Reed began. “Some women know straight away, yet others have gone on to deliver without ever having known they were pregnant. We can never know what symptoms she was aware of at the time.” She added. She seemed a little perplexed by the question after all this time. 

She nodded in acceptance as she took in the information. “And the casual drinking? What effect would it have had on the child?” She asked thinking about her own pregnancy and what damage the last month of casual whiskey could’ve had. Not to mention the night she got drunk when she returned home.

“The recent research shows any alcohol can have a detrimental effect, but most of the time if the mother stops early on, the baby will be healthy. The verdict still isn’t out.” She answered as she moved around her desk to the filing cabinet. “Why do you ask?” Reed added semi-suspiciously. 

“Curiosity.” She said offhandedly, masking her worry. When Reed brushed past to get to the filing cabinet it made her stomach flutter. She felt like a nervous lovesick teenager. 

“Do you want to get drinks later?” Reed glanced back over her shoulder in her direction and asked cautiously as she shuffled the paperwork into a file.

“I can’t.” She replied tearing her gaze away and looking down, fiddling with her fingers nervously. It was an instinctual response given her pregnancy, but she realised it came across slightly blunt. “I’d like to, but I can’t.” She added in a gentler tone. Reed still looked slightly uncomfortable having previously declined Stella’s advances. It didn’t bother her though, as right now she was doing he best to control the butterflies within her and she felt slightly light-headed. She needed to eat. “I’ve got work to do.” She added. Reed’s disappointment softened in understanding and she finished shuffling the files into the cabinet closing the drawer. 

At that moment, a surge of hot nausea hit her, and her hand flew to her stomach. She felt slightly unsteady and moved to lean her thigh against the armrest of the couch behind her. She sat on the edge of it in order to feel more stable. She hadn’t been sick since Sophie caught her outside the bathroom at Anna’s, it had been nearly two days so far and she wanted to keep it that way. Reed turned away from the cabinet and moved back behind her desk looking up noticing the change in Stella.

“Are you okay?” She asked as concern spread across her features.

Either she looked really green right now, or Reed had been observing her more closely than she had anticipated. It was most likely a combination of the two. “I should go.” She said breathing slowly, glancing towards the doorway. She felt warm and flushed as though someone had taken a flame thrower to the butterflies dancing within her and the fresh night air outside was beckoning her.

“Are you sure? You don’t look so well.” Reed added stepping towards her and searching her eyes for a tell.

There was no point in attempting to disguise it. The pathologist’s chocolate eyes were all over her now and denying it would just be an insult to her intelligence. “Feel sick.” She murmured quietly before taking another deep breath.

“I’ll get you some water.” The brunette replied softly giving her bicep a squeeze as she left.

She was mortified that her body had betrayed her and was behaving like this. She had hoped to stop by and have a quick conversation to maintain the professional connection, and as an excuse to admire Reed’s beauty, but now she found herself the centre of attention. The dynamic was changing, and she wasn’t comfortable with it. In Reed’s momentary absence she fidgeted and fanned herself with her hands. She wasn’t going to be sick, but she certainly didn’t feel well, and it irked her.

“Here.” Reed handed her a Styrofoam cup of cold water and rested a reassuring hand on her back when she returned.

“Thanks” She whispered, quickly taking a sip. It was cool and refreshing, initially offering a mild numbness in her mouth and throat which instantly made her feel better. It cooled her momentarily too, taking the edge off the flush of heat that seemed to radiate from within her.

“What’s the matter?” The professor asked gently as she backed up and leaned against the corner of her desk, still reading Stella clinically.

“It’s nothing … Stress.” She mumbled avoiding the brunettes gaze, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and composing herself.

Reed didn’t seem convinced, but she also looked like she wasn’t going to challenge the lie. Her demeanour was a mixture of sympathy, concern, and care. “You should lie down and rest for a minute.” She gestured towards the couch cushions.

“No. I’m fine.” Stella shook her head a little. While she was no stranger to that couch, having slept on it a couple of times while waiting for results throughout the case, she wasn’t going to impose herself any longer on Reed’s evening. And she did have work to finish back at the station before retiring to the hotel. “I have work to do.” She said, standing and finishing the water. “I’ll keep in touch.” She added softly before departing with a small wave. 

Little did either of them know they would be seeing each other a lot sooner than they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think so far. It all feels like bullshit.


	12. Unburied Foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stella dives back into Spector's lair at PSNI managing morning sickness and dancing around colleagues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly PSNI angst. A bit more Eastwood. Stella's badass streak kinda comes out a bit here. 
> 
> This is gonna have to be it for a while, I'm sorry. If I continued I would've left you on a cliff hanger for the unknown foreseeable future, and I couldn't do that to you.  
> I need to distance myself for couple of weeks to catch up on study. I'm a healthcare worker and the 'rona has had me run off my feet lately. I promise there's more and even if its a bit of a wait, please be patient. I wont abandon my Stella.
> 
> Musical inspo:  
> when the party’s over – Billie Eillish  
> Ghost – Noah Cyrus  
> I have a spotify playlist for her if anyone's interested.

_"Are we all lost stars trying to light up the dark?"_

* * *

When she returned to collect her briefcase and tidy the conference room the entire station stank of oily Chinese takeaway wafting from the staff kitchen. Evidently some of the detectives were sharing a feast for dinner while working late, but the strong scent of it was too much for Stella’s heightened sense of smell and her stomach protested immediately. Her hand flew to her mouth and she broke into a jog, her stilettos clattering noisily on the linoleum. The nausea which had subsided since leaving the morgue, was now rapidly rising once again. Instead of dashing back towards the conference room to get away from it she felt safer retreating to the bathroom. Much to her displeasure though, she found herself not alone in there. PC Hagstrom was taking her time pinning her hair up into a tight bun. She ignored the younger officer and braced herself at one of the basins turning on the tap for a drink and taking a few deep breaths. She felt the officer’s eyes on her as she stole a glance at her out the corner of her eye while still tending to her hair. When the nausea didn’t ease, she withdrew to a cubicle and threw up, holding her hair back, and neglecting to bother with closing the door behind her. It wasn’t violent so her body thankfully held onto most of the water. It was enough though, to make her feel better in a sadly weak way as the sickly endorphins coursed through her. She promptly flushed and stood returning to the sink.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” Hagstrom asked cautiously glancing over again as she packed up her hair pins having finished with her bun.

She ignored the officer and pressed a damp hand to her forehead and the back of her neck. The cool temperature was soothing and allowed her to shakily gather herself together.

“Ma’am?”

She purposefully stayed silent until she was done, turning the tap off and drying her hands. She turned to face her when she was finished, finally deciding how best to approach the awkwardness of the moment. What happened in the confines of the bathroom should remain unacknowledged by others. She had however, had more than enough discussions in here previously while changing for various press appearances. She wasn’t shy, and her personal boundaries were often blurred. This was different though. She scanned her eyes over the officer with a frosty intimidating glare, staring at her until Hagstrom yielded and uncomfortably broke the gaze. She felt warm and a little embarrassed but wasn’t going to let her see that, so she turned on her heels to leave without saying anything. No matter what she said or did, there would no doubt be rumours floating around amongst the staff within hours, and she wondered how long it would take for them to make their way back to her this time. She would deal with it when the time came. In the long run it really didn’t matter she would soon be returning to London.

* * *

The chill of the evening cooled her with a brisk wind the moment she stepped onto the roof after leaving the bathroom. The fresh air instantly ridding her of the stuffy heat it calmed her stomach, so she pulled on her coat to prevent the cold from penetrating any further. She stared out into the blank night sky contemplating her many and varied questionable actions from the case. There was a dark cloud cover over the heavens, obscuring all the twinkling celestial lights of her namesake. After having had a chance to examine the case with a retrospective critical eye she was worried. The entire thing was a fucking disaster. So much of the interview process and events up to the staged arrest went against usual protocol. Not to mention the ceiling collapse during the search of his residence. She would likely be held accountable for a lot of it, and with Jim’s resignation the repercussions for her were not looking favourable.

“Thought I might find you up here.” Eastwood’s genial voice disrupted the silence behind her and she spun her head to see him walking over. “The conference room was empty.” He added as she offered a weak smile and he joined her near the grungy rail where she stood overlooking the city. “What are you thinking?” He asked.

“I’m wondering why I am here, and who so vehemently requested that I return.” She replied turning towards him so she could accurately read him.

“Chief of Police.” He said with inconsequential honesty. “He’s still trying to get a read on you.”

She glanced at him briefly knowing there was still an inherent anger hovering in her eyes, but he wasn’t fazed by it. “A week ago, I was in ICU on a ventilator. I’m not supposed to be here.” She replied hoping the shock of that revelation regarding her injuries would drive home her distaste.

“You seem okay though.” He replied. Now studying her with a renewed curiosity. A mild concern now gracing his features.

“Appearances can be deceptive.” She grumbled throwing him her characteristic icy glare that seemed as though she was seeing through him. She knew how much that stare made Jim wither, but had not yet had any occasion to use it on Matt. He was always so agreeable and offered no resistance to her leadership. “Who’s the main focus of this investigation?” She asked boldly, assuming he would tiptoe around the answer without actually giving her one. Especially if that focus was on her.

“The Foyle clinic mainly but there are a few on the policing board who want to hold you at least partially responsible.” He answered honestly.

“Am I going to be hung, drawn, and quartered over this?” She asked hesitantly. Suddenly fearing the repercussion of disciplinary action that could be brought down upon her from all the inconsistencies throughout the case.

He chuckled. “Well you certainly ruffled a few feathers while you were here, but you got the job done better than anybody else in this office could have. I’m hoping the commission will see that. We need more of that around here.” He replied smiling at her.

“And what happens if they don’t?” She asked warily, challenging his views to see how thoroughly he had thought this out. 

“The most they could hit you with would be breach of protocol, It’s a two week suspension for PSNI staff but I don’t know what that would mean for you. Depends on if your boss at the Met decides to carry through with their charge.” He replied, he didn’t seem worried for her at all. It was more informative than a warning. 

Stella snorted in mild amusement at how little impact that would have on her given her current state of affairs. She doubted Chris would side with anyone but her, and even if he didn’t, a slap on the wrist and a two-week suspension paled into insignificance compared to the leave time that she was likely facing for her injuries. Given her heath situation, it wouldn’t make a difference whatsoever.

“Let them try.” She smirked sourly to herself. “I’m on medical leave for at least the next two months, and even then, I may not be returning to active duty.” She added softly as explanation. At the mention of the timeframe she mulled over how far along she would be if she kept the child. She would definitely be showing by then. Something to keep the rumor mill well and truly spinning among the staff of her department when she returned.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Eastwood asked curiously. His tone suddenly turning gentle. He was a patient guy, but she could tell he really wanted to know about this.

“Perhaps. Why the interest?” She countered erring on the side of caution, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with his inquisitiveness.

“Am I not allowed to show concern for a colleague?” He replied smiling wryly throwing her own words from earlier that day back at her. When she asked about Anderson.

She gave him an equally wry smirk in return at the remark as understanding, but decided against filling him in on the rest of the details. At least for now.

“It’s my fault you know, Spector… I am responsible.” She said pensively instead. Changing the topic away from her private life and back to the murderer.

“Don’t say that.” He replied softly. “There’s plenty of evidence supporting his obsession with asphyxiation.”

“I know..." She replied in a low tone. Spector's fixation with that, and how he blurred the line between eroticism and strangulation, was how she was going to wiggle her way out of this. "...but I seeded the idea. I saw it in his eyes during the interview. I said death was too easy for him… and like a seed, the idea grew within him until he accepted it as his escape plan.” She explained holding a dark confidence.

“You can’t blame yourself for this.” He said sympathetically.

“I know.” She paused sighing. She did know. She could acknowledge that Spector acted in response to things she said, and she might’ve anticipated his actions, or chosen her words more carefully. In the end, they were his actions, not hers, that ended his life. “Do you feel responsible for DC Rob Breedlove?” She asked referring to the officer who committed suicide while Matt questioned him. By pushing that button, she hoped it would elicit the understanding response she was after.

He bowed his head submissively but didn’t outwardly say yes, he knew she had him. She read the answer in his body language and they shared a mutual understanding of the guilt they both wore. 

“Mmm, that’s what I thought.” She hummed, a small smile tugging at the corners of her eyes. “I guess we’ll both have to live with it.” She added sighing and lifting her elbows off the ledge, brushing the dust from the sleeves of her coat.

Smiling slightly again as a means of saying good bye, she slipped her hands into her coat pockets turning to make her way back inside.

* * *

She was sliding files into her briefcase when a knock on the door pulled her attention away from the paperwork she was packing up in front of her.

“Ma’am?” Ferrington’s tentative voice carried from the conference room doorway as she apprehensively entered. “I heard you weren’t feeling well?” She queried gently.

Stella sighed in frustration throwing a file down roughly before answering. “Do you and Hagstrom really have nothing better to do than gossip about me?” She asked indignantly. She was glad it was only these two so far, and not any of her superiors though. She hoped to nip it in the bud here. 

“I’m sorry Ma’am, she mentioned it at shift changeover.” She offered as a nervous explanation. “I was concerned, I thought I should check in on you.”

“I’m fine.” Stella replied a little more sternly than she intended to, given how supportive the redhead had always been.

Danni nodded and took her intimidating tone and frosty demeanour as a cue to leave.

“Wait.” Stella called out, the authoritative ring in her voice not yet easing. “Were you asked to give a statement for the Foyle inquest?”

“I did Ma’am.” Danni nodded and re-entered nervously closing the door behind her.

“What can you tell me about it?” She questioned.

“Nothing much really, it was pretty standard. I could only tell them about what happened in the forest and that had already been investigated when they looked into the shooting.” She answered diplomatically. The officer was being careful with what she said. 

“Was it focused on the case or on the management of it?” Stella asked as a means of determining if they were looking for inconsistencies in her own handling of things. She didn’t really expect much of an answer and knew better than to ask for specifics.

“Erm, a lot of questions were communications based.” She replied thinking back. 

Stella nodded in acceptance and allowed her eyes to dance across the papers still sitting on the conference table for any Foyle correspondence she could add to her briefcase as she thought about her next move. 

“If you need anything while you’re here, just text me. I'm happy to help.” Danni offered as a friendly gesture, letting concern still hover on her features.

“Thank you, Danni.” She said appreciatively not being able to come up with any further questions. She wasn’t staying long, and so wouldn’t be in need of an assistant like last time. She did miss having someone to rely on though.

Stella nodded again as a means of letting the officer know she could leave, and the redhead departed.

She stared down at her briefcase confident she had enough to review back at the hotel tonight. She would’ve liked to get in touch with Dr Larson, if only to see how he was doing after the attack, but it was unlikely she could get hold of him now. She slowly set the rest of the evidence back into the archive boxes, careful to order it all as per the case developments. She then grabbed her coat and briefcase before flicking the light off and leaving for the evening. Although the room behind her was now tidy, her head was a complete mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please tell me what you like/dislike and any suggestions for what you'd like to see up next. I always appreciate it.  
> More of Stella's personal stuff? Or more of the case?


	13. Cold Red Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello darkness my old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves, its about to get chaotic.  
> ** Trigger warning - Miscarriage**
> 
> Musical inspo:  
> To Die For – Sam Smith 
> 
> (Honestly the things I do to my characters is disturbing but I wouldn't have it any other way.)

_“Sometimes, the darkest of nights can produce the brightest of stars.”_

* * *

It was the dead of night when Stella startled awake, she felt her whole body jolt roughly under the covers as panic struck through her and she came too. She had been dreaming about co-ordinating the search for a missing child somewhere in Belfast. Standing on an unfamiliar street corner completely lost, having no idea what part of the city she was in. She felt a suspicious liquid running down her inner thighs, and snaked a hand under the bottom rim of her pencil skirt to swipe at the wetness which had trickled almost to her knee. She inhaled sharply noticing that her fingertips came away bright red with blood. That was what woke her.

It took her a moment to comprehend where she was, glancing at the clock, she realised she had only managed a meagre two hours of sleep. A disconcerting dull ache in her lower abdomen tugged at her attention as she came to her senses. She leaned over to the bedside table to turn on the lamp and retrieve her dream diary, but as she did so, she noticed a sticky wetness between her legs. Her intuition was a bitch sometimes, but it served her well; a blessing and a curse. The panic re-emerged full force, and she threw aside the covers revealing a crimson stain that had seeped through her night clothes.

She was bleeding. For real.

An unexpected despair settled in her bones as she climbed out of bed and dashed into the bathroom. Ignoring the light-headed sick feeling that descended, she set about cleaning herself up. A cold chill erupted along her spine as she felt a drop of blood leave her body and heard a tiny plip as it broke the surface tension of the water in the toilet bowl below her. The parts of her mind that had recently fought with each other so ferociously, over having the child, or the abortion, had both gone silent. Nature was going to decide for her.

She felt weak, not just in her legs and lower body, but a deep-set emotional weakness in her chest. As though suddenly, in this moment, she was very small and vulnerable. Completely helpless.

Naked, freezing, and bleeding, in the middle of the night, in a hotel room far from home, she burst into tears.

* * *

It was after 2am when Reed’s mobile phone chimed on her night-stand, while the ring-tone was set at a quiet level, its shrill noise pierced the silence and was enough to reluctantly draw her from sleep. The department didn’t usually call her to examine bodies at this time of night but on occasion, where there was a time sensitive crime scene, she was sometimes needed to make preliminary examinations at the scene before forensics were involved. She rolled over and glanced at the screen expecting to see forensics or the department’s number lit up. She was surprised to see instead, it was Stella’s name flashing in front of her blurry eyes.

“Stella?!?” She answered groggy and confused.

“Hi.” The blonde answered quickly, her voice cracking. “Could I get your help with something?” There was an agitated anxiousness in her tone Reed had never heard before in the usually bold fearless women.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” She replied, completely not interested in assisting with whatever it was she wanted, and feeling rather put out that she even had the audacity to call at this hour in the first place.

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry.” Stella’s voice was thick, and it sounded heavy with emotion. Almost as though she had been crying.

 _Why on earth would Stella Gibson be crying on the phone in the middle of the night? S_ he thought, wondering what could possibly have happened in order to shake someone who radiated confidence and self-assuredness in the face of such things as corruption and murder. 

“What’s going on?” She asked cautiously. She heard the other woman inhale a shaky breath and stifled sob through the phone.

“I’m bleeding.” She whispered in a hush, ever so quiet, like she was uttering a great devastating secret. There was panic and sorrow evident in her voice. She sniffed and sobbed again now outright crying. “I’m pregnant and I’m bleeding.”

* * *

Stella stifled another sob as she waited for Reed to respond. She felt silly calling her and the woman didn’t seem at all pleased to be interrupted in the middle of the night. She had anticipated a similar reaction but experiencing it for real felt jarring to her. She didn’t know who else to call. There was no-one here who she felt she could trust with something like this. She thought of Reed as a friend as much as a colleague and there was the fact that she had her own children. That combined with her medical knowledge she hoped the pathologist would at least be able to offer her some advice.

“How much blood is there? And when did it start?” The brunette asked. Her voice remained calm, clinical almost. She was expecting some kind of shock, or outburst, but there wasn’t one. She was as straight to the point as Stella needed her to be. 

“Just now, it woke me up and it has soaked through my night clothes.” She answered pulling herself together somewhat.

“Are you in any pain?” Reed asked softly.

“Mmm…. No.” She had to think about it. Her abdomen felt full and heavy, weighty but not necessarily painful. It had slowly been feeling increasingly fuller for a while now. The dull ache that she felt when she initially woke had subsided.

* * *

It took Reed’s sleepy mind a moment to re-orient itself and process the information she was receiving. So much of this phone call wasn’t making sense but as she woke up more, a solid comprehension dawned on her, and the severity of the situation sunk in. Stella was likely in her first trimester given that she wasn’t showing yet nor had she mentioned anything. Considering her age, the extent of the bleeding, and the beating Spector gave her, she was probably going to miscarry.

“You should go to the hospital.” She said groggily attempting to get her brain to form coherent thoughts relevant to the situation. Stella needed to be looked at to determine the cause, and if the pregnancy was still viable. Even if nothing could be done and she did indeed miscarry she needed to be checked for any other complications. She couldn’t offer any more assistance without more information which was a conversation best not done over the phone. “Are you staying at The Merchant? I’ll take you.” She replied, hastily climbing out of bed and doing her best to shove aside the stubborn fog left from sleep.

“Yes.” Stella replied quietly before giving her room number and hanging up. 

* * *

Stella had gone numb. She was no longer able to form thoughts and emotions, due to the sheer effort it took to fight the shock and pain they evoked. She dressed herself suspended in an autopilot stupor, slipping on a grey long sleeved top, her black slacks, and usual black heels. She looked as though she was heading into the office, but her clothing choices were limited by what she brought with her to Belfast. At least she was comfortable. She gathered her briefcase and phone before staring into space on the couch as she waited for Reed. She knew the statistics on miscarriages in one’s forties and had somewhat danced around considering the possibility of this happening while lying in hospital after her fall down the stairs. She almost expected it. Now however, parts of her had grown attached. Despite the constellations of unpleasant symptoms which she wished would end, and the looming abortion appointment she booked with Dr McKay, she had allowed herself to accept it as a child, and not just another problem she had to deal with.

_Was this her fault? Did she push her body too far? Perhaps not resting enough or looking after herself contributed. Did she will for this to happen as a means of subconsciously absolving herself of the responsibility of ending it?_

She felt like her heart had just been ripped out through her uterus and was disappearing into a crumbling void beneath her. Her sky was falling, and she no longer had anything to ground herself with. Like she was grasping at fragments of her life while tumbling into the oblivion of a black hole. She had no idea that the possibility of losing a baby she never planned for, or wanted, would hurt so much; but it did. It ached in her heart. A fresh raw burning ache for what could have been. Images of a child giggling and dancing in her living room played on her mind. A little girl like Olivia, or Sophie, brushing a dolls hair. A young boy like Connor pushing a miniature dump truck across the floor. She had allowed herself to entertain thoughts on picturing the possibility of fitting a child into her life. She never meant for this, and she resented the poor choices that thrust her into this position, but she wanted it. She wanted this baby. She knew that now. Coming to realise that future was about to be ripped away from her, hurt like a deep heavy weight was pulling at her chest. Dragging her down into a cold oppressing darkness where even a glimmer of hope couldn’t escape from.

* * *

Reed sat silently in the emergency waiting room for Stella to return from the bathroom. She had met with the triage nurse and relayed the situation and now she was waiting to be allocated a bed so she could be checked out. She noticed Stella carried a blank absent look in her eyes since she greeted her earlier and she had been frighteningly quiet since they left the hotel. There was something in her that was more than tiredness or grief. Perhaps her silence was a coping mechanism, perhaps she was in more pain than she let on, perhaps she was doing everything she could to hold it together in the presence of others, or perhaps there was something else at play. Whatever it was, it made Reed feel helpless and useless as she sat nervously waiting for the blonde. 

“The bleeding has stopped.” Stella whispered as she returned and sat back down next to her. Her expression was unreadable, she still seemed as defeated and tired as ever. 

“That’s a good sign.” She replied hopefully. Indeed, it was, a small amount of bleeding in early pregnancy was quite common and the fact that Stella said there was no pain was also promising. She didn’t want to give too much false hope though, so she added nothing further. It wasn’t long before Stella was led to her own curtained off gurney to be examined. The blonde offered her a nod for her to accompany her.

* * *

“Detective Superintendent Gibson…” Said Dr O’Donnell, pronouncing every syllable of her full title slowly. Sweeping the curtain aside entering her bay and recognising her. “Can’t keep you away from this place.” He chuckled flipping open the chart and glancing at it. “What’s going on?”

She glanced up at him from where she was leaning against the gurney as he entered. Her eyes darting up and down as she recognised him. It was just her luck to end up with the same ER doctor who not only treated Spector after the shooting, but also tended to her broken face after she was attacked.

“I think I’m having a miscarriage.” She breathed reluctantly, the lids of her wet eyes heavily closing to avoid eye contact as she forced the words out, her voice barely audible. It was painful for her to speak that probable truth out loud. She would have preferred a female doctor but knew it would be a longer wait for them to track one down who was available. He wasn’t a stranger anymore, having previously been both colleague and caretaker speaking to him now felt odd. It hurt.

“You’re pregnant?” He queried, his voice dropping several decibels in surprise. “You didn’t mention _that_ when you were here the other week.” He remarked making a notation in the chart.

“I didn’t know.” She said bluntly.

“How far along are you? First trimester then I assume?” he asked, his voice remaining gentle.

She nodded. “Eight weeks.” She whispered, fiddling with her fingertips nervously.

“Any pain?” he asked quietly.

“No... Not really.” She shook her head. “I’ve been taking pain killers recently, here and there.”

“Oh really?” He observed her carefully. “Is that zygoma fracture still troubling you?” He asked pointing to her face, scrutinising it a little closer. “The bruises are healed.”

The older fracture in her face only twinged occasionally when she was sick. It was the newer and more serious rib fractures that ached relentlessly. “No. I fell down a flight of stairs a week ago.” Stella relinquished her blatant embarrassment evident with every syllable.

“Go on, what damage did you do then?” His voice still low.

She gave him a brief outline of her fainting spell, the resultant rib fractures, collapsed lung, her stay on a ventilator in ICU, and the surgical plating they installed. He whistled in surprise taking it all in and glancing over her as he thought for a minute.

“Boy you’ve had fun haven’t you.” He remarked sarcastically. He put the chart down and gestured for her to lie down. She obliged, his exam was brief and non-invasive but she didn’t like to be touched and felt particularly uncomfortable, now more than ever. She answered all his questions relating to the bleeding and the multitude of other pregnancy symptoms she had been experiencing. He asked more questions than he gave answers which was frustrating and bewildering. She just wanted to know if she was going to keep bleeding and should mentally prepare herself to lose this baby, or if this was something mild that could be managed and the baby would survive. She also couldn’t shake the thought that this was something she had done to herself that risked the pregnancy. The blows to her abdomen by Spector, the drinking, the fall down the stairs, the stress from the panic attack, her chronic lack of sleep. Any or all of those could have caused this.

“Well I can tell you at this stage your chances for loss are pretty high.” He paused glancing at her and getting straight to the point. telling her exactly what she was expecting. “Given your age, and your recent medical history that chance is very high in fact.” He searched her eyes for a response, but other than the watery numbness she had glazed them over with, she gave him nothing. His words hit her like a blow to her fragile chest and her breath caught in her throat.

“Never-the-less…” He continued. “… I’ll get someone from obs/gynae to come down and take a look at you. The fact that your pregnancy symptoms haven’t diminished could mean the foetus is still viable. They’ll probably do a scan. In the meantime, I can run a blood test. There’s nothing else we can really do other than recommend you take a few days off work.” He said offering a weak encouraging smile and she nodded.

“I can’t. I’m bound by the law to give a statement tomorrow. After that, I have to fly back to London.” She replied. A single tear escaped her eye and broke her stone-cold resolve which she hastily brushed away as she contemplated the situation. The mixture of embarrassment, fear, and sadness was overwhelming. The last thing she needed right now, here in Belfast, in the middle of the Ombudsman’s investigation into the Spector case, was further health issues.

“We’ll know more after the blood test and the scan anyway.” He said definitively and she nodded in understanding before he departed.

It wasn’t long after he left that her phone buzzed in her pocket. Wondering who the hell was calling her after 3am she examined the caller ID but didn’t recognise the number. When she answered there was nothing but erratic breathing.

"Who is this and what do you want?" She queried harshly.

The breathing continued and she heard perhaps a sob or two. _Someone was crying? Maybe they couldn’t speak?_

There was some dead air before the mysterious individual hung up. Thinking it was a prank call she glanced at the number again, there was something familiar about it. That’s when the lightning strike hit her, she had seen this pattern of behaviour before in many victims throughout her career, and kicked herself for not recognising it. The hesitation, the fear, the erratic breathing; it set off alarm bells.

_Jesus… It was Anna._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Suggestions?


	14. Bloodlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Stella's reality falls apart, so too does she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musical inspo:  
>  _[Drown - Boy in Space](https://open.spotify.com/track/1gqo6zPxu0dEjLv7WLYN8I) _  
> If you haven’t been paying attention to the music that inspires these chapters you should listen to this one. It fits so perfectly with everything I pictured in this and prompted the entire chapter. If you listened to none of the others, please listen to this one. I had it on repeat while I visualised and wrote this chapter.

_“Hope not ever to see heaven. I have come to lead you to the other shore; into eternal darkness; into fire and into ice.” – Dante Alighieri, Inferno_

* * *

“Anna, slow down… and take a deep breath.” She said gently as her cousin rambled on anxiously on the other end of the phone about the kids being woken up in the middle of the night. She was trying to make sense of what was happening, and she could tell there was something Anna wasn’t telling her. “Just talk me through what happened from the beginning, from the moment he opened the front door, what did he do?” She prompted carefully, hoping to get to the crux of it. She spent several minutes listening intently, coaxing the finer details as they came to them and offering a gentle encouraging aid through the difficult parts. By the end of it she was shocked and exhausted but kept her voice neutral like she did with every victim she encountered.

After realising it was Anna who tried to call her, she immediately called back to find out what had happened causing her cousin to be rendered speechless in an attempt to contact her at such an hour. Anna was in a similar state to herself, broken, tired and anxious. Andy had come home late - drunk of course - and crossed a line. She was still trying to process what happened. As she suspected, the violence had escalated, and she hated that she was here in Belfast and not still staying with Anna. She could’ve prevented this. The ominous intuition she had while on the train back to London that something was going to happen, turned out to be accurate. Both herself and Anna could be better off if she had simply never left Cardiff.

“I can’t be there to help, but I’m going to call someone to assist you. Okay? Is it alright for me to contact Gerry? He will tell you what to do.” She asked, and her cousin tearily agreed before she finally and reluctantly hung up. 

“Everything okay? Reed asked from the chair in the corner. Searching for her eyes now that she had finished.

“He raped her.” She uttered in a state of complete shock staring into space forgetting that Reed had no idea what was going on. It was probably best though she wasn’t usually one to talk about family and air the dirty laundry, but she was in such a state that her filter was no longer working.

_What the hell was it with the women in her family?!? It’s like they were all drawn to these beasts like magnets._

_Fucking men... They’re all monsters._

She couldn’t get emotionally invested in this and knew she had to treat the situation like Anna was any other victim, but her chest hurt in a way completely unrelated to her plated ribs. It was almost as though she had the wind knocked out of her and it was difficult to focus. She took a deep breath, gathering together all the strength she had, pushed aside her own emotion with great force, and called dispatch asking to be put through to the local Cardiff PD.

“Cardiff Police department, how can I help?” a voice answered.

“This is Detective Superintendent Gibson from the London Metropolitan Police, there’s been an incident at the following address.” She began confidently before listing the details for Anna’s house. “I need you to send a car over with two detectives competent at handling sexual assault, rape cases, or domestic violence.” She continued as though this was any normal day for her. Anyone on the receiving end would not suspect there was anything currently bothering her.

“Okay, I’ll see who I can rustle up to check it out. Are you a witness? How do you know we’re needed? It could just be a lover’s tiff.” The male voice was cavalier and careless. He clearly wasn’t taking this seriously.

“Who am I speaking with?” She asked sternly. Releasing every molecule of authority into her voice that she could muster. She had no patience for his blasé attitude right now and anger boiled below her calm exterior. 

“Detective Graham Jones Ma’am.” He replied sobering slightly.

“Listen to me very carefully Detective Jones, I don’t have much time.” She began, her voice carrying a dangerously calm maliciousness. “There is a woman and three young children in that house in danger. If any further harm comes to them, I will hold you personally responsible at any resulting investigation. Do you understand?” 

“Yes Ma’am.” He replied professionally. She could detect a renewed stiffness on his tone, and she was satisfied she had elicited the desired effect with the threat. 

“Now, send a car over and keep me up to date.” She added coldly before giving her number and hanging up. She was fully prepared to bring the full weight of her department and the law down on anyone who caused or contributed further harm to Anna through their poor police work. 

Tension seemed to vibrate through every single cell and fibre in her body as she sat on the bed trying not to contemplate the events of the evening. She needed to swim or move her body to ease the stress and would even consider going for a run or walk if it weren’t for her own state of health. Exercise was one of the healthy coping mechanisms she put in place to keep her mind in check and her darkness at bay, but with that no longer an option she would probably end up turning to other more sinister strategies. She knew she was hovering in a danger zone of mental and physical instability. If she couldn’t calm herself, she would be liable to have another panic attack, and that would not be good.

She flicked at the hairband on her wrist repetitively and revelled in each small sting of pain it elicited as her skin became pink and raw. She needed to make one more phone call but felt bad for ignoring Reed in the corner who was still keeping an eye on her expectantly. The pathologist had been very patient with her tonight and she half expected Reed to say she wanted to leave soon. She glanced at her briefly and sighed heavily as a means of portraying to her that she hadn’t forgotten about her and was appreciative for the support. There was an understanding in Reed’s eyes which gave her a small relief as she lifted the phone to her ear for what she hoped would be the last time. At least for a while.

“Gerry, its me.” She said when the ringing stopped, and it clicked as he picked up.

“Stella, it’s the middle of the night!” he replied gruffly.

“I’m sorry.” She bleated as her voice broke suppressing tears and struggling not to cry. Hearing his voice elicited a surge of emotion in her and threatened to engulf her. “Listen, Anna’s been hurt.” She continued urgently in a hush, forcing her own emotions aside with effort so she could portray the message she needed to. “Get someone over to her place as quickly as you can. Find a friend or call her mother, someone close to her that she trusts. She’ll need to be examined by forensics so she absolutely can’t be alone tonight.” She said seriously, her tone was all business now. 

“I thought you were staying with her, where are you?” He asked confused, a sleepy daze still hanging on his voice.

“In a Belfast emergency room.” She replied absently, glancing at her surrounds like she had temporarily forgotten was where she was.

“Fuck!” He swore loudly. “What the hell are you doing there? I thought you were taking time off work. Are you okay?”

“That depends on your definition of okay.” She replied in a monotone. It was a phrase she used often to describe how she was when people asked her. It was a convenient deflection.

“Jesus Stella… are you injured? Did something happen?” He asked rapidly.

“No.” She replied. “I’ll fill you in later.” She said. The urge to tell him flashed across her mind but she quickly suppressed it realising she didn’t have anything definitive to tell him anyway. If she spoke a single word or even allowed herself a single thought regarding her own situation, her carefully constructed façade would probably fall apart. Right now, she needed him to focus on Anna instead. “I can’t talk about it right now.” She added.

“Fine.” Gerry replied.

“I’ve sent the local police over to Anna’s and I need you or someone else we trust to be there for her.” She said continuing on with the issue at hand.

“Okay, I’ll give her a call and see what I can do.” Gerry replied sighing.

“Be gentle with her.” Stella added softly before she hung up.

Her mind and body could not physically handle the stress any longer. Now that she had spoken to the people she had to, and done her best to deal with everything, the full gravity of the entire evening came down upon her like a meteor, crushing her. Sitting in silence with her thoughts reeling she started to unravel. If she were to physically manifest the amount of emotion, she was experiencing, she would be howling in pain. Instead she remained still in a state of complete existential shock. 

“Are you okay?” Reed asked cautiously punctuating the silence after a few long minutes.

She felt sick. The kind of sick that wasn’t just morning sickness. A kind of sickness so intense she felt like she could vomit up her internal organs and it wouldn’t rid her of the heavy weight of anger, guilt, and despair that rapidly descended upon her.

“I feel sick.” She murmured absently without looking over at the brunette.

“Do you want me to call someone?” Reed offered gently.

“No.” She glanced at her briefly, guiltily knowing she had continued to neglect her support while all of this unfolded and gave her head a small shake sighing. She could feel the bile rising within her and knew she was moments away from being violently ill. Getting up she pushed aside the curtain to her bay and said nothing more as she marched towards the bathroom.

* * *

Reed watched Stella dash away knowing full well she was going to be sick, she looked ashen. She couldn’t tell if it was from morning sickness or the bad news she had just received, probably both. Either way she felt helpless. It was remarkable how the blonde managed to hold it together throughout the last few phone calls. Clearly there was something horrible going on and it was incredible to witness the vast array of dark chaotic emotion in Stella’s eyes while she kept her voice so steady and professional. She was mesmerising to watch while she worked, if she had not been sitting in the room with her, she would not have been able to tell anything was the matter. Witnessing that caused her to call into question how many times throughout the last few weeks she had spoken to the blonde and wondered about what her emotional state was at the time. It was an intense case and perhaps Stella might not have been coping as well as she appeared. Hearing about her recent fainting spell and hospital stay in London explained why Stella had and never called after the case closed.

She glanced at her watch and noticed it was nearing 4am, her eyes were bleary, and she wondered how much longer they would be here. It was unlikely that Stella would be seen to by obstetrics before the next shift came on at 7am, and she wanted to go home to perhaps catch an hour or two of sleep before heading in to work. She felt guilty for even considering her own needs after observing Stella and everything that happened to her. It appeared the officer was having a particularly rough night but there was nothing practical she could do to assist with any of it so far. She brushed the curtain aside and made her way over to the nurse’s station to collect a jug of water for Stella. She needed to maintain her fluids and would hopefully be grateful of it when she returned. It was the least she could do to feel useful. 

* * *

After violently and repetitively emptying the contents of her stomach, she left the bathroom to return to Reed. She felt very weak; Weak like she was properly ill, and her body was unresponsively heavy. Walking past the other curtained off bays of ED the smell of disinfectant wafted out from behind one of them. The smell struck her as though she had shoved her nose into a bottle of it and inhaled. She rapidly lost grasp of reality as the room spun in a blurry whirl, punctured by flashing visions of blood-stained sheets and glowing little stars. She felt hot all of a sudden, as the terror descended and the painful ache in her recently strained ribs amplified intensely throughout the rest of her chest. Her chest tightened against it, she couldn’t breathe, feeling sweat flush her skin, she quickened her pace in order to make it back to Reed before the full brunt of the attack hit. She felt an instinct to run but her body was slow and heavy. When she laid eyes on the pathologist she locked in and used her to help ground herself. Doing her best to hold onto reality as the world kept spinning focusing in and out.

Reaching Reed, she gripped onto her forearm and held tight.

“I’m going to pass out.” She uttered calmly so as not to cause worry before her legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed into a sitting position on the floor. She let go of Reed, laid her hand over her chest wounds protectively and started counting to control her breaths. Screwing up her facial features against the intensity of the terror and the pain. It had never been like this before. The pain was so acute as it radiated from her fractured ribs and through the entirety of her chest, she felt like she was having a heart attack. She felt like she was going to die.

* * *

Reed felt Stella’s form go limp as the blonde grasped tight to her forearms and she eased her to the floor worrying what on earth was going on.

“Umm .... help!” She called out confused trying to remain calm as she moved down with Stella.

A couple of nurses in scrubs rushed over and Dr O’Donnell who was tending to another patient glanced over his shoulder in their direction before abandoning what he was doing. 

“What happened?” Dr O’Donnell asked addressing Reed as he rushed over.

“I don’t know she just collapsed.” She said looking up from observing Stella anxiously. 

“Did she faint? Has she been bleeding?” He asked joining the pair of them on the floor.

“I don’t think so, she didn’t say. She’s been nauseous, and sick. I thought it was morning sickness.” She rambled confused, wracking her brain for any information she could give as she attempted to make sense of what was wrong with Stella.

He bent down to her on the floor with Reed and searched for her eyes. Stella was awake, barely, groggy and completely out of it staring blankly into a void still clutching her chest. Borderline conscious she didn’t look like she could speak or stand.

“Stella, look at me.” He said sternly but quietly. “I need you to look at me. Tell me what’s going on.” He started intently into her eyes to grasp her attention.

“Panic attack.” Stella exhaled through her erratic breathing as her chest heaved and she continued to stare into nothing. 

"Does your chest hurt?" He asked still observing her in. She nodded absently with a hand still wrapped across it, screwing up her facial features it apparent agony.

“Has she had this before?” Dr O’Donnell asked looking up at Reed.

“I don’t know.” She answered. Other than what she'd been privy to tonight she essentially knew nothing about the mysterious officer's health. “She just received some bad news, family problems I think.” She had now given all the information she had about the blonde who seemed so confident when she recently courted her.

* * *

After being assisted with moving from where she collapsed on the floor, Stella sat on the edge of the bed in her curtained off bay with an oxygen mask over her face and EGC wires attached all across her chest. The attack was not showing any signs of easing despite her efforts to control it. She stared deep into Dr O’Donnell’s intelligent navy eyes and used them to focus on to initiate a rhythm to her breathing. He was keeping a close watch on her in between glancing at the ECG print out searching for abnormalities but there was none. She was still flushed, sweaty and her heart raced. She needed water, to drink, to stand under, to cool her skin, and to swim in until she felt a weightless peace around her but here in this moment, she couldn’t have that. Instead she used her other psychotherapeutic tools to stay grounded. Focusing intently on one sensation at a time. Touching the soft cotton of the bedding under her, the deep flecks of blue she saw in Dr O’Donnell’s eyes, the beeping of a monitor somewhere. It worked until she felt a small gush of fluid in her underwear and sensing that evoked a whole new wave of fear. _Is that blood?_ The intensity of her amped up physiology was evidently having a negative effect and she had to get this under control, but the fresh anxiety that emerged for her pregnancy caused her to get trapped in this moment of panic.

“Bleeding.” She mumbled anxiously as she breathed.

Dr O’Donnell surveyed her intensely, thinking for a moment before replying. “Stella…” He began gently. “I’m going to give you some medication to help you relax.” He said searching her eyes for a sign of recognition, a sign that she understood. “It’s safe for the baby.” He added.

The attack continued to run rampant as she attempted to process what he had said before she nodded to agree. 

* * *

Reed watched Stella lying on her side with her back to her, knees bent almost pulled up into a foetal position. After checking her heart they removed the ECG wires and allowed Stella to lie down. Even though it was clear she had a panic attack they still had to check her heart, it was standard procedure for any chest pain. She watched as the drugs kicked in, Stella's chest rising and falling as her breathing slowed and heart rate normalised on the pulse monitor above. She reached out a hand to hopefully offer some comfort to the stricken blonde resting it on her shoulder and rubbing gently. Stella’s whole body flinched under her touch, so she immediately recoiled her hand.

“I’m sorry.” She said gently, slightly confused. Stella had allowed her to touch her before without any odd reaction. She certainly showed no hesitation that night she kissed her in the bar, it didn’t make sense. As she thought about it more, she realised she essentially knew nothing about the Detective Superintendent’s life before she came to Belfast. Aside from her sexual escapades she knew very little about her as a person at all. They almost always talked work, sharing stories from the front line, how each of them brought down criminals through their skill and expertise. While she herself didn’t deal with many live victims she had seen this kind of reaction before on occasion. She also considered the events of the evening and it was then that it dawned on her. If Stella experienced abuse or trauma at any time in her life, it made sense that it would manifest and come out again in a time of stress. It also explained why Stella was so good at what she did, her vehement hatred of men, how she managed to coax out the horrific stories of the victims with quiet understanding.

 _Her body was behaving like a victim’s_. _Was she one of them_?

Part of her heart broke in sympathy for the stricken blonde lying on the bed next to her. Stella had chosen to trust her in a moment of need, and she made the decision, then and there, she would not leave her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in uncharted waters from here on out. Any thoughts, input, or suggestions all welcome.  
> I love your comments.


	15. Dark Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm after the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musical Inspo: The Fault In Our Stars (MMXIV) - Troye Sivan  
> Heavy angst, I'm finally figuring out how to get into Reed's character, still working on it though you don't see much of her actual personality in the show because she is so shy. If it feels wrong I'm sorry.

_“Dark matter is needed to hold galaxies together. Your mind is a galaxy, more dark than light, but the light makes it worthwhile._ _”- Matt Haig_

* * *

DCI Matthew Eastwood’s black unmarked armoured sedan sat idling outside the front steps of The Merchant Hotel as he waited getting increasingly restless as time passed. It had been more than fifteen minutes and they were pressed for time, traffic at this time of the morning could be a nightmare. He definitely told her eight-thirty for a nine o’clock meeting, she had all the paperwork emailed to her.

“Sir, the front desk called up to her room but there’s no answer.” His driver said to him through the rolled down car window before climbing back into the driver’s seat.

 _Where the hell is she_?

He pulled his seat belt aside, lifted his phone from his breast pocket and dialled. It rang a few times but thankfully she answered.

“Gibson.”

“Where are you? I’m outside the hotel with the car.” He asked confused, still glancing out at the entrance expecting her to appear somewhere there.

“I’m in hospital.” She answered without pause or inflection.

“What?” He replied in shock wondering what disaster could possibly have befallen her in the past twelve hours.

“Belfast General.” She clarified. “I’ve been admitted.” Her voice was different, groggy, and somewhat slow.

 _Was she sleeping? She seemed perfectly fine last night_.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He asked slightly worried and slightly annoyed. He wished she would confide in him with what was going on.

“Well I’m sorry but I’ve been rather preoccupied.” She scolded harshly. Her voice holding a stronger vigour than it did initially.

“I’m sorry.” He apologised softening and regaining composure. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

“You’ll have to re-schedule the interview.” She replied dully without explanation.

He knew better than to question her. Ever since the first moment he met her and questioned her about her altercation with Olsen, she had successfully silenced his curiosity by shutting down his opinion before he even formed one. The ‘subject: woman’ spiel she gave was so cleverly crafted that he couldn’t help but admire it. He knew then she wasn’t the kind to go against without risking life and limb; or one’s career. He would rather be her ally than an enemy, and wouldn’t bet against her in a fight, intellectual or otherwise. From then on, he observed her antics from the periphery with an amused curious interest. He saw it coming when her and Anderson came together, the moment she suggested him for the task force, he smirked knowing exactly why she chose him. It was like a planetary collision - inevitable - the poor kid never stood a damn chance. She had been an almost endless source of entertainment in how she managed to juggle both work and recreation so closely tangled together, stirring up the department irritating the gold commander among other superiors, and she never ceased to surprise him with her unorthodox yet effective methods. She had such an innate understanding of how Spector operated that it was almost scary. There was an intelligent mastery in how she conducted everything she did, and she worked so damn hard he wondered if she ever slept. Whatever was going on right now, had to be something serious. Maybe related to her previous hospitalisation for the collapsed lung. She wasn’t the kind of person to bail out of work on a whim. If anything, she was the opposite.

“I’ll give the ombudsman’s office a call. What do I tell them?” He asked solemnly as he thought about how to proceed from here, and what it would mean for the case if she was rendered unavailable for the foreseeable future. He was hoping her statement would be a key element in holding the Foyle accountable for Spector’s death.

“Exactly what I’ve just told you. They don’t need to know the details.” She replied. Her voice was quiet and dull now. 

“They’re going to want to know, investigators tend to be curious like that.” He replied humorously wry.

“Fine…” She sighed. “Complications from a pre-existing condition.” She answered diplomatically. It was the perfect response and gave no information of value about the specifics of her situation at all. It could mean anything.

“Okay. I hope you feel better soon Ma’am.” He finished with genuinely before hanging up.

Sighing he pressed a few buttons and lifted his phone to his ear again knowing the next conversation was not going to go as smoothly.

* * *

During the height of the panic attack her doctor dosed her with sedatives, probably benzodiazepine, she didn’t care to look at the pills that he presented to her, while Reed handed her a cup of water - they felt like benzo’s. She would’ve preferred he didn’t, but she was in no state then to protest medical advice. She wasn’t going to contact Gerry again at that time of night either and he couldn’t be of any help as a proxy from London anyway. He was hopefully helping Anna since she couldn’t. The drugs combined with her chronically accumulated lack of rest left her unable to resist dozing off into the deepest sleep she had in months. She was still out cold hours later when Eastwood called as the ring of her phone barely pulled her from the chemically induced slumber. It was only after she answered that she realized how much time could’ve passed and where she was supposed to be this morning.

 _Shit... The interview_.

It was scheduled for nine, but it didn’t matter, even if she could get up and check herself out of the hospital right now, she would be of no use. Between the drugs and the recovery from the panic attack she was essentially incapacitated, and would be for the rest of the day at least. The only ray of light in the darkness was that there had been no more bleeding since the attack.

Still sleepy she rolled over in bed with great effort, her body felt as heavy as lead and it seemed to take all her physical strength just to accomplish this small act. She was surprised to see Reed still present in the chair next to her bed, slumped over with her eyes closed having also dozed off sitting by Stella’s bedside. During the early hours as they waited for the drugs to kick in and her attack to subside, they had moved her form the temporary bay in emergency to a proper bed on a ward somewhere. Now she would have a whole new set of staff and wished Dr O’Donnell had looked in on her when his shift finished, like he did last time she was here. Her bladder tugged at her attention reminding her that there was a growing being it was sharing residency with and it could no longer comfortably hold what it used to. Slowly and reluctantly she dragged herself up out from under the blanket and with difficulty pushed herself into a sitting position. It was like pulling herself up from underwater and onto dry land after a very long swim. Her plated ribs throbbed again and protested the strain from using the muscles in her upper body. She wondered for how long they were going to keep doing that, it had been just over a week since the surgery and she knew it would be several more before it died down and they healed. On top of it the stitches were starting to get itchy now the wounds were healing, and she should consider getting them taken out soon. Her whole body held a fatigued stiffness in her muscles, aching down to the bone pulling tight against her joints making them seem looser and more unstable than they normally did. She felt old and wanted a shower. She yearned for water flowing over and around her body cleansing her skin of the salty stickiness left from the sweaty attack, infusing heat into her tight muscles, refreshing her soul, washing away the sullied events of the night and all her messy thoughts with them. She didn’t want to think about what happened, choosing instead to look forward to resting at the hotel when she finally got out of here. Perhaps she would run a bath so she could close her eyes and soak up the heat as she lazed in the steam recovering, dozing off occasionally; but she couldn’t, she had a dead serial killer to resurrect, a battered cousin, an abusive in-law, and a bleeding problem to attend to first. Sighing she swung her legs over the side of the bed turning her back to Reed as she prepared herself to get up.

“You’re awake, how are you feeling?”

She spun in her seated position and looked over her shoulder as she heard Reed’s tired voice behind her. The brunette’s eyes had fluttered open and she was pushing herself up in the chair as she observed her.

“Tired.” Was all she could really muster as a reply. Aside from the fatigue and the aching ribs she was fine physically, sore, lethargic, and a little hungry, all of which were to be expected, none of which really mattered. The rest of her she couldn’t speak to, not yet having had a chance to sit with her mind and pull it apart; carefully; delicately, walking herself through the things that happened, not letting each thought race to crash into the next, paying attention to which ones elicited specific emotions. She was a mess last night, its no wonder she had another attack.

“You didn’t have to stay.” She said turning away again and looking at her lap, it came across a little colder than she intended. 

“I wanted to make sure you were ok.” Reed replied sympathetically.

“What about work and your girls? Don’t you need get them to school?”

“They’re at their Dads this week.” Reed replied, a detectable hint of hurt and relief both rolled together into one emotion in that statement. “I told work I wouldn’t be in today, they can survive without me.” She shrugged. 

She felt better knowing Reed didn’t prioritise her needs over those of her children, but it was little consolation, she still felt like an inconvenience. She shuffled her position and eased herself to the edge of the bed with small movements slipping her bare feet down onto the cold floor daintily before systematically rising to stand, keeping a hand on the bed in case she felt light headed. She didn’t, she was just heavy and slow.

“Where are you going? Do you need something?” Reed asked attentively.

“Bathroom.” She whispered modestly. “Do you know where it is?” She felt strange asking, for someone who earned a living by being incredibly observant of her surrounds she certainly wasn’t right now. 

“To the left, near the nurse’s station.” Reed replied surveying her for any signs of distress.

She nodded in thanks but left the brunette’s anxious glance unacknowledged not having the energy or patience with a full bladder to put her at ease in this moment.

Sitting alone in the bathroom cubicle she stared at a small reddish-brown patch on the liner in her underwear, remnants from last night’s episode acting as a reminder of what brought her here to begin with. Seeing it tied a knot in the pit of her very empty stomach and made her feel slightly nauseous. Nauseous, starving, and tired. She peeled it off, discarded it in the receptacle and made a mental note to ask for another from the nurse before returning to bed. Perhaps she should also ask for a maxi too, in case the bleeding started again, she still might lose the baby. It was early days, anything could happen. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe two weeks from now or sometime in her second trimester… Just maybe. She had grown too attached, too hopeful, and she really shouldn’t have. Not at her age. 

Washing her hands at the sink she became aware of the larger shower cubicles at the other end of the bathroom reflected in the mirror behind her. Curiosity got the better of her so she wandered over to them to assess the state of them. Standing there examining a pristine bone-dry shower recess looking up into the faucet her body felt an insatiable need to feel the water. She wasn’t thinking any more, it was like some autopilot part of her brain commandeered her reasoning centre and switched off the parts of her that would let her know these actions didn’t make sense. Instinctively without a second coherent thought she turned on the tap and fell under the stream of water gushing from above. She soaked up the euphoria as cold drops spilled all over her like liquid gold on her skin. She never wanted it to stop.

* * *

Reed slowly noticed Stella had been gone for a while, five minutes rolled into ten and, eventually more than twenty minutes had passed, and she still had not returned from the bathroom. She was getting increasingly worried as more minutes continued to tick by and she stretched as she got up from the chair, anxiously glanced at her watch again and began pacing the space near Stella’s empty bed. Not wanting to encroach on the officer’s privacy or independence she waited a little longer nervously contemplating the possible outcomes. _Was she ok? Was she sick again? Or bleeding?_

She sighed and thought it best to go and look for her, alerting a nurse hovering by the main desk filling out paperwork on a patient she had just finished tending to as she passed. Requesting that she accompany her in case Stella needed more assistance than what she herself could supply. She shuddered at the thought of it. _What if she passed out?_ She quickened her pace slightly with a new urgency.

They found Stella standing dead still under the running shower water, curtain left open, still clothed in her hospital gown soaked to the skin, eyes staring blankly at the floor, blonde hair limp and dripping sticking to her shoulders. Like a drowned rat lost in the sewers.

“Stella?” She asked eyes scanning her up and down, her medical brain kicking in, searching for a reason for the impromptu shower. There was no noticeable indication she was bleeding again, no crimson streaks on the hospital gown, or rosy tinge to the water beneath her feet. _Did she have a fever?_

“Sorry.” Stella muttered embarrassed, eyes meeting hers it seemed like she snapped out of a daze. She shivered looking up awkwardly as the nurse reached behind her to turn the tap off.

“Are you hot?... Do you feel feverish?” Reed asked while the nurse wrapped a towel around the officer’s small frame. She looked so tiny here.

Stella shook her head and was now doing her best to avoid eye contact self-consciously.

“I’ll check her temperature when she’s dry.” The nurse added. Rubbing Stella’s body under the towel to soak up as much water as she could.

“I just needed to feel the water.” Stella said in a feeble attempt to explain herself, but she didn’t need her to.

“It’s okay.” She replied delicately, as though she would if she were comforting one of her girls after a mishap.

It was yet another trait abuse and rape victims often fell into; an insatiable need to wash. Like they could wash away the sin they never committed, wash away the painful touch left on their skin that seemed to be burned into them, wash away the valuable evidence she so badly needed to collect in order to catch the bastard that did it. She was glad she stayed, silently wondering who it was that could’ve hurt Stella, and when. Along with swimming Stella had told her she was competent kickboxer, training at a studio in central London once a week to maintain her skills. In the bar the night they kissed Reed listened intently nursing a vodka with a playful smirk, as the blonde told a couple of stories about how being nimble, quick, and small gave her an advantage against the untrained criminal oafs she used to shackle on the streets of London. Stella was small, barely reaching five foot two _without_ her Prada heels, but she couldn’t imagine anyone ever having the audacity to overpower her. Intellectually, psychologically, or physically. Her own colleagues, superiors and subordinates alike, were simultaneously afraid and in awe of her. She was an intimidating larger than life force of nature, paradoxically made of raging fire and crystal cut ice, all rolled into one.

_Who the hell would challenge that? Who could break that?_

* * *

The heavy dark weight of depression was finally settling within her, a soft billowy apathetic numbness that left her unable to see the world through normal analytical eyes or feel her way through her decisions. It had been tentatively coming and going like the proverbial cat by an open door since the Spector case started spiralling, but finally it was taking over. And it was making her do unusually odd things, like stepping into a cold shower with her clothes on - or perhaps that was the sedatives. She didn’t care any more, but she did, and she had to be careful or she would end up in the psych ward, which was the last place she wanted to be. Her mind just didn’t have the energy to care, to force her thoughts to work with each other and bounce around her mind. They were too sluggish and slow… and she was so tired. The drugs administered in the early hours hadn’t worked their way out of her system yet. The chemical drowsiness still begged her to climb back into bed and dose off again. She was still damp, cold, hair dripping sticking to her skin. The nurse had peeled her wet gown off and replaced it with warm dry towels. Reed averted her eyes out of cautious modesty. She could sense the brunette was uncomfortable but worried, like she didn’t know what to do or how to act, like she felt she would step over some kind of invisible social boundary having shied away from the encounter in the bar. Like seeing her body was exclusively for events such as that. They still hadn’t spoken about it. Both choosing to leave the situation unacknowledged in the days following as the case developed and time became short. Neither individual possessing the inclination to make things awkward. She doubted Reed would be interested now anyway, after seeing her this indisposed. Her chance to court the beautiful brunette as a savvy professional equal now lied in the cold water trickling down the nearby shower drain; bound for the sewers. Despite all that she still found herself drawn to the dusky skinned shy brunette. She had snapped out of her strange wet daze the moment she laid eyes on Reed and was now very much anchored in the present; and she needed clothes. In her panicked stupor the previous night she hadn’t thought to pack for an overnight stay in the hospital, at the time she barely managed to dress herself.

“Reed…” She called over to the brunette looking up tentatively sitting on a bench in the bathroom while the nurse left to retrieve a new dry gown for her. She let her eyes dance over her as she took her in. “Could you go to my hotel room and collect a few things for me?” It was a rather personal intimate act on its own, trusting someone else in her room and having them go through her things, but over time she became less and less uneasy about it. She had lost count of how many junior officers she had requested carry out this very same task over the years. Needing to get cleaned up before press conferences and media appearances became more and more part of her role as she climbed the ranks. Multiple cases, multiple incidents, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, smudges of dirt, fuel, soot, engine oil, vomit, tears, viscera, and blood. All belonging to a blur of victims, perpetrators, colleagues, and even herself on occasion. The result of unanticipated unforeseen circumstances, just like now.

“Sure, anything you need.” Reed replied eagerly, nervously glancing down at her.

“Is it okay if I give you a list? She asked more confidently peering up into Reed's eyes still shivering slightly. She could tell the professor was surreptitiously keeping a close eye on her and wanted to seem as though she was okay. She looked into those wide brown intelligent eyes. They were a a rich dark brown, almost black, at face value, but even in this light, looking carefully there were flecks of almond and coffee within them, the colouring not entirely made of a single shade.

“Its fine, here.” The pathologist replied breaking the gaze pulling her phone out of her pocket, handing it to her. “Type out what you need.”

She took the phone, looking down at the screen and began spelling out the essentials along with where they could be found.

"The key-card to my room is in the side pocket of my bag.” She said handing it back and pulling the towels tighter around her shoulders.

"Are you sure you'll be okay here without me?" Reed asked tentatively, those mahogany eyes burning into her hoping for reassurance before she departed. 

She nodded reassuringly but the pathologist didn't seem entirely convinced as she stole a second uncertain glimpse before reluctantly leaving. Shivering, still somewhat naked, and alone in the hospital bathroom she wrapped her hair up in another towel as she waited for the nurse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also sorry if it seems like I'm dragging this baby thing out way too long. That wasn't my intention, you'll have an answer next chapter I promise.  
> My writing/plot is getting a bit messy cause I haven't visualised much ahead of where we are.
> 
> Its going to be a bit of a wait for the next one I think so I'm very sorry.
> 
> Thoughts? Likes? Dislikes? Suggestions? All welcome.


	16. Interlude: Swan Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snapshot of Stella's life as a fourteen year old when her father died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a back story chapter so if you only want present day storyline you're welcome skip it (no hard feelings, I'm a reader too so I get this kind of thing isn't for everyone). 
> 
> This just came to me while I was writing the next chapter and I felt I needed to do her past justice. (Or my version of it anyway). I'm sure others may see her differently but I actually put a significant amount of thought into this from observing/analysing Stella's many present day psychopathologies.
> 
> Musical inspiration: I Can't Carry This Anymmore - Anson Seabra

Musical inspiration: [I Cant Carry This Anymore - Anson Seabra](https://open.spotify.com/track/1NNnmmBEaId0uoWfvtNd8F?si=CybdUkHZRK2NCJbvXd7nCQ)

_"There were stars," - he said - "they burned my eyes.”_

* * *

Stella rapidly yanked two fingers from her mouth as she heaved, the backs of her knuckles scraped against her teeth and the beginnings of a horrible mark was forming there. A combination of bruise and graze on her bony hand, a scabby callus, haloed by rough purple skin. Her mother had basically force fed her a sandwich saying she couldn’t go to class until she finished it; but she hated having anything in her stomach while she danced. _How was she expected to be weightless, airless, and dainty if she was weighed down by such things as digestion_? After a false start and three attempts she had managed to rid herself of most of it, and her body was tingling with post purge endorphins. She flushed and left the stall before washing the saliva and bile from her mouth and fingertips at the tap. She took a drink to soothe her throat and settle her belly. After flicking water drops from her fingertips into the basin she smoothed a few errant wispy hairs down against her scalp with her damp hands, neatening her tight blonde bun before adjusting the straps on her leotard so they sat neatly framing her prominent clavicles. She smoothed a hand over her belly and ran her fingers down the midline of her toned abdominal muscles feeling the ridges through the soft cotton. With a quick last glance, she was satisfied and turned to leave for the studio.

The class was hard, her feet started aching only fifteen minutes in, pointe shoes digging into her toes, calves straining, plantar muscles cramping as she pointed, lifted, and stretched into pose after difficult pose. Breathless with sweat beading her skin and muscles tensing, she did her best to hold firm and maintain her control. They were being drilled particularly hard recently because selections for the end of year production - Swan Lake - were coming up and if she wanted a part, she would need to be better. No wavering balance, no wobbling ankles, strong dainty controlled elegance. Perfection.

* * *

After dinner she rolled the sore plantar muscles of her feet over her dad’s cricket ball under the desk, massaging them while she finished her homework. Her hair was still tied up in a tight bun but she had swapped out her pastel leotard and tights for a loose hoodie, comfortable fleece pants, and warm socks. She heard a cough down the hall – several in fact - body shaking wet hacking coughs, followed by the sound of her father emptying his stomach and a flood of worry caused her to cast her pen aside. Her father had his second last round of chemotherapy a couple of days ago and he was still in the throes of all the unpleasant side effects that came with it. The coughing was new though, hearing him made her feel sick in sympathy and it churned her stomach. The pasta her mother cooked for dinner loaded with cream, bacon, and chicken sat heavy within her stomach and even though she only ate half it still felt like too much, it seemed as though it swelled within her and increased in density making her belly feel uncomfortably full. Abandoning her homework, she crept down the hall to check on him. Her frail father lay in the hospital bed surrounded by medical equipment he had brought over from the hospital so he could be treated at home. He was pale, sweat was beading on his bald fair forehead, the stench of vomit hanging on the warm stale air of his room. He looked much worse than he usually did, he was now fairer than her translucent milky winter skin, he looked almost blue.

“Hello darling.” He croaked. Glancing up at her hovering nervously in the doorway, her hand still resting on the doorknob.

“Hi Daddy, here let me take that.” She said entering the room and reaching for the tissue box to pass him one from the bed side table before she plucked the soiled container from his hands.

Across the hall she poured its contents into the toilet as she gagged almost losing her dinner too. She would probably feel better if she did. She heard him cough again as she flushed it away, and a pang of sympathetic anxiety tightened in her stomach. Giving in to her body, she cast the smelly container aside, she barely needed her fingers, brushing them lightly over softness at the back of her throat as she thought about her stricken father. The creamy pasta mixed with bile was thick and difficult to get rid of, she was violent and loud.

“Not you too.” Her mother said disdainfully and rolled her eyes in annoyance brushing past her when she emerged into the hall holding the smelly container.

“It’s the smell.” She lied timidly.

“You have such a weak stomach, you need to toughen up.” Her mother called, marching downstairs towards the ringing telephone.

Stella washed the container thoroughly in the kitchen setting it to dry and fetching a new one before returning to her father.

“How was ballet today m’dear?” He asked. The coughing had thankfully settled but he seemed worse than he usually did after chemo.

“Fine… difficult.” She replied, giving him an honest answer.

“You look tired.” He replied eyeing her closer. He patted the bed beside him as a gesture for her to join him.

“Selections for the end of year show are coming up.” She said explaining softly as she climbed onto the bed and, lay next to him snuggling into his shoulder for a hug. “I have to work hard.”

“Really? What is it this year?” he asked, a playful smile on his voice.

“Swan Lake.” She murmured as he wrapped an arm around her, he seemed very warm against her body, but he shivered as he pulled her in close.

“That’s been done to death hasn’t it? You’ve seen it three times.”

“Mmm” She hummed. “Seen it, but not danced it.” She added playfully.

“You’ll be good for it. You would be a beautiful Swan.” He kissed her forehead tenderly.

“No, I’m not tall enough.... and all the seniors get the leads anyway.” She sighed sadly. “If I get a part will you be well enough to come watch?”

“I should be.” He replied hopefully.

He was always so optimistic, telling everyone how treatable and survivable Hodgkin’s lymphoma was to anyone who sent their sympathies, but Stella was old enough to know cancer was cancer; and cancer killed.

“Only a few more weeks of this before I start radiation.” He only just managed to complete the sentence before his breath caught and he coughed violently again. Stella immediately leapt up off the bed to give him space and handed him a tissue which he continued to cough into. When he pulled it away from his mouth the pristine white was flecked by dots of bright scarlet blood. Terror struck through Stella when she noticed it and she bolted from the room to alert her mother.

“Mumma...” Stella tried to interrupt. Ellen Gibson was in the living room with paperwork scattered across the coffee table while she was deep in conversation on the phone to a client. 

“Just a minute dear, I’m on the phone.” She snapped.

“It’s Dad.” She said hoping to at least let her know this was urgent.

“What about him? Can’t you handle it?” She sighed agitated, holding the phone to her chest.

“He’s coughing… and there’s blood.” She stammered on the verge of tears her anxiousness was making it difficult to think and form sentences. Her mother immediately went still and hung up the phone with no explanation to the person on the other end before she brushed haughtily past Stella towards the stairs.

* * *

An hour later there was a crowd of people in the house, two nurses, and three specialist doctors conversing in the living room with her stressed mother. Stella remained in her bedroom and listened to the muffled voices through the walls of the house. Half an hour after that, they had all gone. The house was empty and silent, her father with all his personnel were bound for the hospital, leaving her all alone with no idea what was happening or if she would see him again. As though in the event of an emergency all the adults in her life had suddenly forgotten she existed.

She put some music on – a piece from Swan Lake - for the sole purpose of attempting to fill the emptiness in the house and ventured back into her father’s room. She wanted to be near him. It still looked exactly as it did when he was in here with her less than two hours ago. She poked around examining things here and there, curiously opening drawers and going through the vast array of medications he was on that she couldn’t hope to pronounce let alone know what they did. The entire room was filled with medical supplies but they weren’t all a completely a foreign concept to her - her father was a doctor after all – she pulled open a drawer and found it filled with suture kits, alcohol swabs, iodine patches, dressings, and various other things for wound care. it reminded her of the time when she was 9 and she cut her knee on a broken plate, he showed her how to do stitches then. She whimpered like a baby while he numbed the wound with a syringe of anaesthetic, but his caring voice and gentle touch calmed her as he worked, and her inherent curiosity overtook the fear. She watched mesmerised unable to tear her eyes away as he slipped the strange needle and thread through her skin pulling her wound together. He noticed her interest and explained what he was doing with each stitch. After he dressed the wound, he offered her a suture kit and an orange, and talked her through how to do it herself. _“You have a steady hand Stella, and you learn things quickly. You would make an excellent surgeon.”_ He praised her after she successfully stitched up the orange peel. When her knee wound eventually healed, he also taught her how to remove them, letting her take the last couple out herself as he watched supportively. As she grew older, they seldom shared time together and so the memory of the precious moment stuck. And then he got sick.

The piece from Swan Lake still echoed throughout the house as she worked her way through her Father’s things. Another drawer was filled with needles of various gauges, syringes, more alcohol swatches, and a box of single use vacuum sealed scalpel blades. She plucked one from the box curiously unwrapping it and tested the blade against her thumb. It was so sharp it instantaneously drew blood without her even feeling the small cut it made. She inhaled sharply as it began to bleed and smart so immediately sucked on her thumb. At that moment she heard footsteps in the hall and with her curiosity painfully satisfied for the evening she removed evidence of her invasion and squirrelled the blade away back into its packaging so it wouldn’t slice her accidently from within the pocket of her hoodie. 

“Hey little one, I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing in here?” Gerrard whispered lightly as he nudged the door open and entered spotting Stella still closing the drawer.

“Just tidying up some things.” She replied. “For when he comes back.” She added.

Gerry gave a great defeated sigh, and his eyes held a sympathetic sadness. “Stella, darling…” he began hesitantly “…Your dad’s not coming home, at least for a while. He’s very sick. Your mother doesn’t want me to tell you this, but he probably won’t recover.” He whispered slowly. His eyes carefully watching her as she did everything in her power not to glance up at him, not to face the reality of that statement. She looked down at her thumb, blood still slowly seeping from the cut moments prior. She shoved her hands in her pockets to hide it as a tear crept from her eyes. 

“Come here.” He whispered gently and held out his arms inviting her in for a hug.

She fell into his arms and collapsed against him as she was overcome by body shaking sobs. She cried and cried, and it felt like hours passed before she managed to find her voice.

“I don’t want him do die.” She sobbed leaving tear stains on Gerry’s scrubs. He looked weary enough to have just come off a double shift so it didn’t matter. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew her father was going to die, but it didn’t make it any less painful, any less of a shock. 

“It’s okay.” Gerry replied softly rubbing her on the shoulder. “Why don’t we go downstairs for some tea. It’s very late, and we’re both tired.” He sighed pulling away from the hug delicately. 

She sniffed and nodded. Not having a single care in the world for the late hour.

Swan Lake continued to play long into the night after she curled up on the couch. Gerry sat near her and they stayed there in silence until her sadness carried her to sleep. She didn’t notice the blanket he wrapped around her before drifting off himself.

* * *

In the days that followed her father’s condition deteriorated rapidly. Pneumonia, he had developed an innocuous bacterial infection which in healthy people wouldn’t even have the capacity to cause disease, but in a cancer patient it was devastating. Her mother spent more time at the hospital than she did at home, and when she was home, she always brought _that man_ with her. That man Stella hated. The American. Stella walked in on them wrapped around each on the couch one evening and it immediately made her feel sick. Her father wasn’t even dead yet and her mother was already getting cosy with another man. Under the guise of being a work colleague of her fathers he had known the family since Stella as very young. Too young. And he had not set foot in the house since the night Gerry caught him visiting her room during a late dinner party a few years ago. Perhaps the relationship had been going on since then, but the memories of his distinct disinfectant smell still haunted her and was one of the reasons she often kept her distance from her father. Surgeons always smelled of iodine and industrial strength disinfectant, it’s also why she hated hospitals. It was Gerry who took the glow stars down from her bedroom ceiling one evening while she was at a dance class, but it saddened her father, he named her Stella for star - “ _I thought you liked the stars darling? They remind me of you, a beautiful twinkling light in the darkness.” -_ but she couldn’t sleep with them there anymore. Gerry never told him why, and neither did she.

And so at the age of 42, Henry James Gibson, once a prominent surgeon died from bacterial pneumonia leaving little Stella in a world she detested. 

* * *

“You looked like a rag doll out there Stella. You need to get you act together. Just because your father is no longer here to watch you, it doesn’t mean you should just give up.” Her mother remarked one afternoon after rehearsals. She had come by the studio early to watch before taking her home. 

“I’m only an understudy, which means I probably won’t even get to dance. So even if he was still here, he still wouldn’t see me on stage.” She replied bitterly. “Everyone else in my class got a stage part except me. I’ll just be sitting in the audience hoping someone breaks an ankle.” A sulky negativity smiling from her lips.

“No Stella. Don’t you see?” She replied exasperated. “They’re grooming you for a lead. Forget about everyone else, if they’re dancing in the corps that’s where they will stay, but you… they chose you as someone who could step up and fill the heavy point shoes of a principal ballerina.” Her mother explained.

“It still doesn’t mean I’m going to get to dance” She replied still sulking.

“Eurgh.” Her mother sighed in frustration. “It doesn’t matter if you dance on stage or not. This entire production is training for you. It’s a test, and throughout every rehearsal they want to see that you have the capacity to become something. If you’re going to mope around and treat this like you’ve already lost, then they’ll replace you and in a few years as a senior you’ll be part of the background as just another anonymous corps dancer.”

“how are they going to see if I can dance a lead, if I don’t actually get a chance on stage?”

“You are being watched a lot closer than you think. If you want a future with this, you need to treat every rehearsal as an audition for that lead role.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to be a dancer anyway?”

“You won’t be anything if you don’t finish your dinner.” She snapped. Gesturing to Stella’s still full plate where she was pushing food around on.

“I’m not hungry.” She replied before she threw her cutlery down and stormed from the table.

In her room she sat curled up in a ball and cried. She was angry and sad and utterly confused. There was an anxious tension within her that had been building since her father died which she couldn’t handle, couldn’t mitigate or sooth no matter how much she cried or what she did. Part of her wished she died too and she felt like she needed to claw at her skin and rip herself flesh from bone to make it go away. She missed him, missed curling up with him and his comforting positive outlook. She soon stopped crying, tears did nothing she learned, and she knew she couldn’t bring him back. Instead methodically she dug around in her bedside drawer for the surgical blade she stole from her father’s room the night he was taken to hospital. She slipped off her shoes and as though possessed she slid the blade through the sensitive skin under the arch of her foot. It stung but she relished the pain. She wanted to bleed, wanted some physical part of her body to be damaged and marred as much as she felt inside. She wanted to hurt outwardly as much as she hurt internally. Cut after cut bled and throbbed and she revelled in the free flowing blood. The endorphins provided a negligible relief from the internal tension, calming her, instilling a sense of balance and stability she so desperately craved. They allowed her to relax, and each time she walked or moved or bumped them they throbbed again further providing her with pain and a release.

The next day in rehearsals her cuts stung severely from the sweat and pressure within her point shoes. The pain provided her with a ferocity and intensity that fuelled her dancing. She felt stronger, bolder, and lighter. Each of her movements were more detailed and precise and it made her feel so good. An elation she hadn’t felt in a long while.

* * *

The final night of the production rolled around, and the swan spiked a fever rendering her unavailable for the show. It now meant despite her initial pessimistic presumptions, Stella’s opportunity to dance actually came. Most of the day she occupied herself with practise and preparation, marking her movements, applying makeup, ensuring the costume sat where it should. Her mother nit-picked the entire time but amongst the chaos she failed to notice her daughter hadn’t eaten.

As Stella stood in the wings before the curtains opened a profound sadness overcame her. Her grief for her father caught up with her, it was him who took her to Swan Lake for the first time when she was just a child. She missed him, it hurt, and she wished he could’ve been here. Tears stung in her eyes and she fought them back with all she had as she took to the stage. She was dancing this for him after all – his Swan Song.

* * *

In the middle of the show, just like he had done a thousand times in rehearsals, her dance partner lifted her up above his head, so she arched her spine over his hands and threw her head back into the pose. Blood rushed to her head and the world spun as he spun her, and then he brought her down, the tips of her toes touching the floor, and the stage didn’t stop spinning, and everywhere was both dark and light, and then she was on the ground and everything turned to static before going completely black. 

She woke up in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors and an IV. Her mother sitting in the chair beside her, stony faced staring darkly into a void. The air possessed the lingering scent of hospital grade disinfectant and she felt very uncomfortable.

“Mum.” She said softly as she glanced over towards her attempting to get her attention as she took in her situation.

Her mother’s expression didn’t change as she very slowly got up from the chair and moved towards her daughter’s bed looking at her directly with that stony stare. The one Stella had only seen her wear at her father’s funeral.

“You scared me.” Her mother’s tone was blank and devoid of any detectable emotion. Neither upset nor worried. “Don’t ever do that again.” She added. As if Stella had any control over what happened.

“I’m sorry…” She replied not knowing what else to say. “I don’t know what happened, I - ”

“- you fainted.” Her mother replied rapidly cutting her off. The sting of disappointment spilling from her lips. “You lost control… and you collapsed. On stage.” There was a pause where her mother looked away from her. “Perhaps we need to give dancing a break for a while, clearly you’re not coping. Gerry thinks I should get you into some kind of therapy.”

Tears stung in her eyes as she listened to her mother’s words all blurring together into a blunt desolate monotone that meant she was more disappointed, or angry, than she was worried. A tone that cared more for her reputation as a dancer than she did for how she felt.

Swan Lake was the last time she danced. Ever. It was her swan song as much as her Father’s. She never wanted to dance without him here to watch her anyway. Her heart just wasn’t in it anymore. An inherent anger took up residence within her. Anger directed at herself for losing control, anger at her mother’s questionable relationship and emotionless demeanour, anger at _the American_ for infiltrating his way back into her home, and anger at her father for leaving her to deal with all this without him.

An anger that wouldn’t leave her for years, if not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and input always welcome. :)  
> Would you have viewed younger Stella differently? If so, how?


	17. Nebulae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some good news and some bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry its taken so long. I couldn't include everything I wanted to in this but it was a long enough chapter already.  
> Enjoy
> 
> Musical inspiration: Someone To Stay - Vancouver Sleep Clinic

“ _There are as many atoms in a single molecule of DNA as there are stars in a typical galaxy. We are, each of us, a little universe.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson, Cosmos_

* * *

To the untrained eye Stella’s hotel bathroom would’ve looked like a murder scene. There were drops and smudges of blood scattered here and there on the floor, smears of it had dried on the toilet seat, and there were two crisp white towels now marred by dark red streaks tossed over the edge of the bathtub and vanity. Along with that, Stella’s blood-soaked underwear and pyjama pants were lying on the floor where she had discarded them in a hurry during the night. To Reed’s trained pathological brain however, she knew it looked worse than it was, Stella had lost a lot less blood than it seemed, but perhaps she was just choosing to hope for that. It was confronting nonetheless, and she felt very intrusive being here, having such intimate knowledge about her colleague. There was a certain intimacy in seeing someone else’s blood. Reed stepped over it all towards the sink and collected the toiletries requested, toothbrush, toothpaste, facial cleanser, various creams. She had expensive taste, and used an array of quality products; Clinique, Estee Lauder, and Dior all among the things she tossed into the small cosmetics pouch bound for the hospital. She then moved from the bathroom out to the closet and found her small carry-on suitcase still unpacked. Dragging it out into the light of the room she opened it on the floor. The coffee table and couch were covered by case notes and paperwork that Stella had been working on late into the night, the bed sat undisturbed from the moment it was vacated in the early hours, covers twisted to the side and a red streak across sheets where she climbed out. It was obvious housekeeping hadn’t been in yet but unsurprising given the hour. She fossicked through the suitcase for a comfortable change of clothes, her choice was between two silk shirts, a single black pencil skirt and black work slacks. She chose the pants and a soft feeling shirt along with a change of underwear. She felt uncomfortable being among Stella’s things like this. She was essentially a stranger and being here gave her a front row seat to everything anyone would ever want to know about her. She felt like she hadn’t quite consented to experiencing the rawness of the situation. She was witnessing a vulnerability to the officer that she suspected few ever saw, and she recognised the value of that.

It felt strange yet intriguing.

From the moment they met she couldn’t help but notice Stella acted differently around her compared to others. Like the blonde deliberately softened the edges of her ice-cold intimidatingly ruthless demeanour just for her and it felt thrilling to know she was singled out. Like she was special. Since then she was consistently afraid that if she showed too much of her true self she would be disliked and then subject to the same haughty treatment usually reserved for everyone else. And she wasn’t ready for that.

After gathering together, the last of what Stella requested - her laptop and diary - she again surveyed the mess in the bathroom, this time with a more detached mentality. She couldn’t leave it in the state it was for Stella to return to, so then set about cleaning it up. At least when the blonde returned later, she wouldn’t be coming back to the traumatic mess she had left it.

\-----------------------------

Stella listened to her phone vibrating away on the bed side table as she lay in bed with her hair still damp, her feet elevated, and an ultrasound probe in a very uncomfortable place. Sitting just beyond her reach, it had already gone to voicemail twice and was now ringing a third consecutive time. Someone was trying very hard to get hold of her, but she had no way of knowing who or what for until the obstetrician completed the exam. The grainy screen for the ultrasound was facing away from her so she still had no idea what was going on and the doctor gazed at it intently concentrating on the picture portrayed there.

“Well, there’s good news and bad news. Which would you prefer first?” The doctor asked without removing the probe.

“Just tell me.” She snapped a little more harshly than she intended, her frustration building. She didn’t care for games right now with her mood and the uncomfortable position she was in, she really just wanted this over with. 

“It was a threatened miscarriage.” She said gently - yes _, she -_ Stella was lucky enough to get a female doctor this time. There was something to be said about pink medicine and how more female doctors ended up there rather than a male dominated speciality like surgical, for once in her life she was grateful for the patriarchy. The doctor shifted the monitor to the side of the bed so both of them could see what was there before pressing a button. The tell-tale rapid thumping of a foetal heartbeat spread through the room racing along like a rabbit, strong, regular, and loud. Initially it made her jump.

“Your baby is still alive.” She said smiling. “Everything seems to be as it should, so even though you’ve lost some blood, at this stage you haven’t miscarried.”

Relief flooded her system and relaxed her body, and she let her head fall back into the pillows eyes dancing aimlessly around the ceiling as she took in the information, she assumed this was the good news. She didn’t realise she was tensing so many muscles all at once. The phone on her bedside table interrupted said relief and proceeded to ring for a fourth time.

“However…” the doctor began again and she braced herself for the bad news to come. “If you look there….” She pointed to a dark spot on the ultrasound screen. “You have a subchorionic haematoma, its where there’s some separation and bleeding between the uterus and the foetal membrane.” She explained. “That’s what’s causing your bleeding.” Her doctor added highlighting the dark spot and taking a few screen shots before removing the probe and indicating that she could get comfortable again.

“Is it serious? Will it affect the baby?” If this was going to be dangerous for her or the child, she felt like she would be better off terminating. She considered the looming abortion appointment with Dr McKay she was yet to cancel as she cleaned herself up with a tissue and pulled her hospital gown down over herself. She sat up cross legged in bed, ignoring her phone which had momentarily gone silent even though she could now reach it, and turned her full attention to the situation.

“Sometimes they heal on their own and sometimes they don’t. It does heighten your chance of a miscarriage occurring, and there’s significant risk of complications later like a placental abruption, or premature birth. You may experience further bleeding or spotting and you will need to be monitored carefully for the duration.” She said seriously before wheeling the machine aside and making notations in her chart by the end of the bed.

“You should probably lie down for another hour or two and take it easy. I’ll make a note that you can go home sometime this afternoon if there’s no further bleeding and you’re feeling ok.”

Stella nodded in understanding. “I live in London, I was supposed to fly home this evening.” She replied.

“If you can, you should make other arrangements. I would advise against any air travel for a while, in fact I strongly suggest nothing but bed rest for about a week. You should avoid standing or walking for long periods at the very least.”

She sighed heavily, considering her position thinking it unlikely the PSNI chief would grant a pass on her statement due to her situation, even if she did offer full disclosure of her pregnancy, she would undoubtedly be stuck here until they rearranged the interview.

She didn’t want to stay in Belfast any longer than she had to, and this just complicates things.

* * *

“You scared me you know.” Reed said apprehensively, observing Stella as she sorted her things from the hotel. After Reed returned she went for a proper shower and was finally beginning to feel more like herself. 

“My mother said that to me once.” She replied recalling her Swan Lake recital while packing away her skincare regime. Reeds tone was similar to that of her mother’s then. “It was a mixture of disappointment and despair. I hope you don’t mean it in the same way.”

“I meant what I said.” Reed replied crossing her arms over her chest, which Stella read it as a protective instinct.

“In what way?... How did I scare you?” She pried carefully.

“I froze.” Reed said uncomfortably. “I didn’t know what to do, I work with dead people, dead bodies, I don’t know how to treat the living while its all happening in front of me, and you… being someone I know, I just panicked.” She rambled.

“You were more helpful than you think.” She replied softly. Reminded of the state she was in the previous night and earlier this morning. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” She added slightly embarrassed.

At that moment Stella’s phone buzzed again on the bedside table. She closed her eyes in defiance against the interruption.

“I’m sorry, I can’t keep ignoring everyone.” She apologised reluctantly as she retrieved it and glanced at the caller ID. It was her boss.

“Gibson.” She answered in her usual professional voice. 

“Hey… how did the interview go?” Chris asked brightly.

“It didn’t.” She replied cold, blunt, definitive. She wasn’t in any mood for this.

“Why?” He asked without inflection, suppressing his curiosity.

“I’m in hospital.” She whispered crisply.

“Jesus. What the hell happened? Did you faint again?” His concern was evident.

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Its personal.” She kept her tone blunt and unyielding.

“Stella… I’ve worked with you for ten years, I’ve even given you mouth to mouth, there’s nothing more personal than that.” He replied, his tone softening in sympathy.

She paused closing her eyes. There was, and this was it. In all that he had witnessed of her in those past ten years she still kept many secrets from him.

“I would rather not talk about it Sir.” She replied, adding the _'Sir'_ in a professional attempt to deflect him, hoping he would take the cue and respect her wishes.

“Fuck, it’s not cancer is it? If you have some serious terminal disease going on, I feel like I should know.” He replied half panicked apparently fearing the worst. She detected a slight of annoyance that she hadn’t opened up to him. 

“It’s not cancer.” She replied darkly. That was something she was sure about. He didn’t know it, but his comment struck a nerve and it hurt. Every year since reaching adulthood she had herself screened for Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and any other cancer markers at her annual physical. Every year it came back negative, and every year she felt relieved, but her risk ever increases with age and this year she reached the age her father was when he died. This year she felt like she dodged a bullet.

“Hey listen,” He began again. “I’ll let you in on this because I know you’ve been dancing around the outskirts of this case for a while, and you might have some input; Another kid’s been nicked, a 7yo from Notting Hill.” His tone turned energetic with the change in subject. 

He was dangling the case in front of her in the hopes she would bite. “I can’t.” She said and sighed heavily. With everything going on she didn’t have the energy for this, but she couldn’t help herself and her brain was already working its way through the elements of building a profile.

_Notting Hill, another wealthy suburb, it might be closer to home, perhaps he’s working his way up the social ladder with this or maybe he just has thing with the picture of a wealthy idealistic family. It was another boy, similar age, he clearly has a type, perhaps he’s looking for the perfect one. Maybe he has a child of his own… estranged or dead? There was pre-mortem evidence of sexual assault on the autopsies, perhaps these kids are a reflection of himself as a child? A victim of past child sexual abuse?_

The parallels this guy had with Spector sent chills through her and she shook herself out of it. 

“I can’t.” She repeated pulling herself back to the present.

“Suit yourself then. You’ve certainly got me curious about what’s going on, I’ve never seen you turn down a case before. When are you back?” He asked casually.

“Perhaps in a week, I’m not sure at this stage. Could I get the duty assessment paperwork signed by a PSNI physician?” She asked hoping to find a way to avoid setting foot back in the London office when she returned.

“I don’t see how that would be an issue, I’ll look into it and send you the details.”

“Thank you.” She replied before hanging up and turning back to the things in front of her. 

Reed had stepped out while she was on the phone and had not yet returned. She worked her way through a couple of the messages left on her phone before tossing it aside. Two texts from Eastwood, a whole bunch of missed calls from Gerry, and a voicemail from an unknown number with a Cardiff area code which she presumed was the police department. She ignored all of them for the moment, the need to call Anna and check on her pulled at her but she suppressed it in favour of dealing with her own situation. She slipped the hospital gown off and into the fresh clothes Reed had brought for her, and stepped back into her stilettos. Their sound on the floor helped her feel marginally human again and it wasn’t long before the brunette poked her head back in. 

“Are you ready? They said you could be discharged.” Reed asked as she stepped back into the room.

“Yes.” She replied offering a weak smile while gathering her bags and slipping her phone back into her briefcase.

She tossed her now air-dried hair back and pulled it up into a messy bun in an attempt to look more presentable before signing the required paperwork at the desk and leaving with Reed by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments, suggestions,   
> & thoughts welcome.


End file.
